In Another Life XIII
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Yet another in this series :-) Young intern Dr. Harleen Quinzel is struggling with her career and her life, until the criminal Jack Napier arrives at Arkham Asylum for therapy, and helps her find her smile.
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life XIII**

 _Dear Dr. Quinzel,_

 _We regret to inform you that…_

Harleen Quinzel stopped reading the letter right there, knowing what the rest of it would be – her application was denied, the position had been filled, please try again, and good luck in your search. She had read it all a million times, she thought, as she crumpled the letter and tossed it toward the wastebasket. It landed just short of it, and Harleen sighed, standing up to pick it up and put it in – there was no excuse for littering, after all.

"Good riddance to you too," she muttered, tossing it into the basket. "That's what the letter should read. Stop bothering us and get lost, stupid."

She sighed, sitting back down, taking off her glasses, and rubbing her eyes. This was the latest rejection in a series, so she should be used to disappointment by now, but somehow each new one hurt as much as the previous one. People never got used to being told they weren't wanted, or more likely in her case, not good enough, she thought glumly. At this point, she really couldn't see any future except being stuck as an intern in some dump of a mental asylum for the rest of her life.

And the worst part was, it was all her fault. It had been one stupid mistake, but one that had ended up impacting her life more than she could have imagined. She had been a good kid, doing well in school and earning a scholarship to Gotham University in order to study psychiatry, her passion. While there, she had attended a party at a friend's house, where alcohol had been passed around, and someone had thought it would be a fun idea to shoplift some stuff from the mall. Dumb, really dumb, but she was a young, teenage kid away from home for the first time, and doing stupid stuff was what you were supposed to do as a teenager, she had reasoned. But she and the others had been caught, and slapped with a count of underage drinking and shoplifting, which would remain on their permanent record. Which is why, Harleen secretly thought, all these jobs seemed not to want her, and all her loan applications were rejected. She had been an irresponsible person at eighteen, which clearly meant to the world that she would always be an irresponsible person – worse than that, she was a criminal. And Harleen couldn't really blame them for not wanting to hire a criminal.

She tried to ignore the self-loathing from the little chastising voice in her head which always seemed to speak up and tell her she wasn't good enough, putting her glasses back on her nose and trying to enjoy the rest of her lunch break. Which was pretty impossible considering she was eating stale bread and cheap ramen noodles, but supporting herself well on an intern's salary was also pretty impossible at the moment. And she still had too much pride to crawl back to her parents and beg them for money, to give up and move back in with them to their dingy apartment back in Brooklyn, and resign herself to some minimum wage job for the rest of her life. She had always wanted to be a psychiatrist, and she wasn't ready to give up on her dream just yet. Although she honestly didn't know how much longer she could take things continuing as they were. She didn't have a real job, or any real friends, or any romantic relationship to speak of. She lived alone in a small, dirty apartment in the bad side of Gotham, in which she froze most of the time because she couldn't afford to spend money on heating. She had spent the last of her savings on some professional work clothes for job interviews, but none of those had materialized. It was becoming more difficult day by day to force a smile for her colleagues and the patients. And Harleen knew one day it would be downright impossible.

Her boss, Dr. Joan Leland, entered the break room at that moment. "Harleen, can I talk to you?" she asked.

"Of course," said Harleen, forcing a smile, although she did genuinely like Dr. Leland. During her interview for the internship, Harleen could tell that most of the other doctors were dead set against her, but Dr. Leland seemed very sympathetic, and she knew it was basically thanks to her that she had got it. "Go right ahead, Joan."

"We're having some staffing issues at the moment – I'm sure you've heard how tight our budget it," sighed Dr. Leland. "The city only has so much money to go around, and right now mental health isn't a priority, apparently. Anyway, all of our doctors have patient overloads, but we still get more sent to us every day, and somehow we're expected to help them too. I've got three doctors out on leave because of stress, which naturally doesn't help the stress of the remaining ones here. To cut a long story short, I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking some patients."

Harleen stared at her. "You mean…on my own?" she asked. "Without supervision?"

"Oh, all the doctors here are supervised," said Dr. Leland. "Sessions are always videotaped for legal reasons, but yes, I mean on your own. Of course we couldn't afford to pay you any more than we are already, but it might be some good experience for you. I know how hollow and empty that sounds, and I know experience doesn't pay the rent, but it's the best I can offer at the moment. And it would really help us out too. Of course you can always refuse if you don't feel you're ready to be seeing patients on your own…"

"No, I do," interrupted Harleen, hastily. "I do – I…really, really want to, in fact, and I'm sure I can handle it."

"Great," said Dr. Leland, smiling at her. "I really appreciate it, Harleen. If you ever need any help, please feel free to contact me day or night. And if I can get more funding for this hospital somehow, I'll do my best to compensate you for your work. I know it's not right what I'm asking you to do, and a woman of your qualifications really does deserve to be paid for the work she does…"

"Don't worry about it, Joan," interrupted Harleen. "I'm just grateful to be here."

And that was true, although money would always have been nice, she thought to herself.

Dr. Leland patted her on the shoulder. "Thanks so much, Harleen," she said. "If you're done with lunch and you want to follow me, I'll get you the files of the patients I'm sending over to you – hopefully nothing too challenging for your first time on your own. But again, please let me know if they are and we can switch them up. I've got Dr. Bartholomew working on the really tough new cases - there was this recent gang bust by the GCPD, and suddenly we've got three new patients, all hardened criminals who hate psychiatrists. It'll be a miracle if we can get anywhere with those. But naturally they aren't for you – I'm starting you out with much easier cases," she said, heading for the door.

Harleen followed her out of the break room and toward her office. On their way there, they heard commotion from the front door, as the police dragged some men inside, clearly against their will.

"You get your filthy hands off me, copper!" shouted one. "Where the hell's my attorney?"

"Your attorney put you in here as part of your plea bargain, genius," snapped the policeman. "Time in the loony bin instead of time in jail. I guess they figure anyone dumb enough to be robbing a bank around the corner from the police station has gotta be crazy."

"Oh, I don't know, officer – sounds like quite the joke to me," chuckled another man also being dragged in by the police. His voice was softer, and yet somehow more dangerous than the man who had been shouting, and Harleen looked up to see a mild-mannered face to go with the voice, thin and strangely handsome, with bright green eyes and a broad smile.

"You shut your trap, Napier," snapped the policeman. "You're the one guy whose insanity plea I buy, actually. I think you belong in the nuthouse for the rest of your life."

"Well, I'm looking forward to being here for a good, long while at least," said the man, with another smile. "Ain't been a shrink alive who can get to the bottom of me."

"I wish 'em luck trying, but personally I was hoping you'd resist arrest so we could've just shot you and been done with it," retorted the police officer. "Still, you're the shrinks' problem now, and good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat at Dr. Leland as the prisoners were handed over to the orderlies.

"Yes, thank you, officer," sighed Dr. Leland. "Dr. Bartholomew will be here shortly to process them."

Harleen kept watching the soft-spoken man, whose bright, green eyes roved around the room, studying it with a detached expression, and that same unconcerned smile. He noticed her staring and turned his green eyes on her, his smile widening slightly as he winked at her.

Harleen drew herself up, glaring back at him. Typical man – even the psychos thought they were quite the catch, and wanted to flirt with any semi-attractive woman. Well, Harleen wasn't that kind of girl – she was a complete professional.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane," said Dr. Leland, addressing them. "You're all here because the courts have ruled this is where you need to be, and far be it for me to contradict them. I'm Dr. Joan Leland, the head of this facility, and any problems or concerns about your treatment can be addressed to me. But otherwise, I'm hoping not to hear from you. We run a very intensive course of therapy here, and I hope you're prepared to work hard in order to get better, because you're going to have to. Please enjoy your stay in our facility – have a good afternoon."

"Who's your friend, Doc?" spoke up the soft-spoken one, Napier.

"This is Dr. Quinzel – she's an intern, but she's having patients assigned to her because she's a highly responsible employee," said Dr. Leland.

"Is she?" said Mr. Napier, studying Harleen with a smile. "Well, good for her. If you're not responsible, you'll end up in the loony bin. And clearly you will if you are responsible too!" he chuckled. "Quite the joke when you think about it!"

"How can you laugh at a time like this, Jack?" demanded his companion. "We're gonna be locked up in here with a bunch of nutcases, forced to talk about our childhoods and take part in basket weaving! Give me a real prison any day over that crap!"

"I think the company's gonna be better in here," replied Jack, still smiling at Harleen. She began to feel uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze, but fortunately Dr. Leland headed off down the hall, and Harleen rushed to follow her, still feeling Jack Napier's eyes staring after her.

"Goddamn circus," muttered Dr. Leland. "Sorry," she added, nodding at Harleen. "Excuse the language, but…those men don't belong in here. There's nothing more psychologically wrong with them than there is a million other criminals – they're cruel and selfish and probably slightly psychopathic, but they're completely in control of their actions and aware of what they're doing. But some hotshot lawyer thinks he's won some kinda victory saving them from prison like this – all he's done is wasted our time and resources, and burdened us with people who aren't actually mentally disturbed. We're not gonna be able to help them – we're just a babysitting service for grown-up, spoiled children. It's just ridiculous."

"It is," agreed Harleen. "But maybe Dr. Bartholomew can certify them as sane so they can go back to an actual prison."

"We can hope," said Dr. Leland. "I have enough problems without a bunch of criminals being added to them. But now I have one less, thanks to you," she added, smiling at Harleen. "You study these files, and let me know if you have any questions. I just know you'll do great, though. You have a real knack with people, and a real insight into disturbed minds. You chose the right career – I only wish we could make it more profitable for you."

"Well, I didn't do this for the money," said Harleen. "Helping people is its own reward, I've always believed that. You do good things, and good things come your way."

Dr. Leland smiled at her. "I sincerely hope that's true," she said, handing her the files.

"Me too," muttered Harleen under her breath as Dr. Leland left her. She sighed, opening one file and examining it carefully, and trying to keep up hope. But despite her belief, good things were not about to come her way. Bad things were, which would turn out to be even better.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Jack," snapped Buzz Bronski, arms folded across his chest as he glared down at Jack Napier from the top bunk of their shared cell.

"Will you relax, Buzz?" asked Jack, opening his eyes as he lounged on the bottom bunk. "This is the best result we coulda got at that trial. We're surrounded by shrinks now, not prison guards, and everyone knows that shrinks are all a buncha suckers. They're sympathetic and easy to manipulate, because they think we're all just victims of society. We'll be outta here in no time. Or would you rather be back in Blackgate, or better yet, on death row waiting for the electric chair?"

"He's right, Buzz – it's better than that," spoke up Chuckie Sol, their fellow gang member locked in the neighboring cell. "And we already know the food in here is better than prison food, so I ain't complaining."

"There, y'see?" said Jack, closing his eyes again. "Just eat your lunch and shut up."

"I won't shut up," snapped Buzz, pushing the tray away. "You realize that if the shrinks certify us as sane, we're going back to Blackgate and the chair, don't you?"

"You saying you can't act crazy?" asked Jack. "I find that hard to believe, Buzz."

"I'm just saying that the best case scenario is remaining in this nuthouse for the rest of our lives, which I don't see as a best case scenario!" exclaimed Buzz. "I'd rather face the chair than be stuck in here forever!"

"Listen, genius, I have no intention of staying here forever, or getting the chair," snapped Jack, opening his eyes again. "I'm telling you, we can play these shrinks. Or at least, I can. You'd need a fair amount of charm and acting skills, which frankly I doubt you got, Buzz. But with charm, you can convince 'em that you don't deserve to be locked up in here, or anywhere. You can say society made you the way you are, that you're a victim, and you deserve to be free. And if you're charming enough, you can even persuade 'em into helping you escape."

"You really think so, Jack?" asked Chuckie.

"Yes, I think I'm just that charming," agreed Jack, nodding. "Can't speak for you other freaks, though."

"We're relying on shrinks to help us stage a breakout?" demanded Buzz. "That's insane! Why don't we just try to contact some of the guys on the outside?"

"How are you gonna do that?" demanded Jack. "You got any go-betweens in here that you ain't telling us about? Or maybe, hey, one of the shrinks could help, which was my idea in the first place!"

"Hey, forgive me for not being enthusiastic about another one of your schemes, all right?" demanded Buzz. "Nothing ever works out the way you say it will, Jack. Every plan you've ever made has gone wrong, way wrong most of the time, which is how we ended up in the loony bin in the first place. You said the cops had sent all their guys out into the city, and that the desk monkeys and administrators and top brass wouldn't respond to a robbery around the corner from the station…"

"And if that junior officer hadn't been stopping that mugger across the street, we woulda got away with it too," retorted Jack. "Nobody who arrested us came from the station, you know it and I know it. Anyway, you gotta think big and crazy sometimes if you wanna be successful, and no success ever came without trial and error and taking risks."

"You can do what you want with your own life, Jack, but you shoulda left us outta it," retorted Buzz.

"Well, I didn't hold a gun to your head to make you go along with me," retorted Jack. "Anyway, if you ask me, this is the best place for us right now. It's cleaner than a prison, there's no rival criminals around to try and shank us in here, and the view's a lot better," he added, as Harleen Quinzel strode down the corridor. She glared briefly at him, but tried to ignore the staring as she headed back to the break room.

"She's hot, but clearly not interested," commented Chuckie.

"If there weren't bars between us, I wouldn't care if she was interested or not," said Buzz, grinning unpleasantly. "She can examine me anytime."

"She probably wouldn't find much, in your head or anywhere else," retorted Jack. "Anyway, we'll be spending time with eye candy like that all day, so I'll thank you to tone down your whining a little."

"All right, gentlemen," said a balding man with glasses, approaching the cells. "I'm Dr. Bartholomew, and I'll be administering your therapy today."

"Yeah, gee, thanks a lot, Jack," muttered Buzz, sarcastically. "You're right, some eye candy there."

"If you'd like to follow me first, please," said Dr. Bartholomew, gesturing at Chuckie and unlocking his cell.

"Okay, wish me luck, guys," said Chuckie, following Dr. Bartholomew to his office, leaving Buzz and Jack alone. A few moments later, Harleen exited the break room.

Buzz wolf whistled at her. "Hey, baby, you ever had a patient fall in love with you? Because you're gonna have another one."

"You're not my patient, thankfully," retorted Harleen.

"Thankfully, because I know you probably couldn't keep your hands off me if I was," agreed Buzz, nodding.

"No, thankfully because then I'd have to pretend to care about your feelings," retorted Harleen. "While now I can just tell you to get bent, you disgusting creep."

Jack laughed, while Buzz's smile fell into a glare. "It wouldn't hurt you to be friendly, sweetheart," he said. "You think you're too good for me, is that it?"

"No, I know I'm too good for you," retorted Harleen, which solicited another chuckle from Jack, and only enraged Buzz more.

"I wouldn't act so high and mighty if I were you, toots," growled Buzz. "Because when I'm outta here, I'll make you pay for it."

"If you get outta here, you'll be going straight back to jail," retorted Harleen. "So I ain't too worried about that. Besides, threats from people who are locked behind bars are more pathetic than anything else, although I realize you're too dumb to understand why your brain is reacting in this way. But let me explain why you're doing it, psychologically – you feel emasculated being locked up in there, with your agency taken away from you. You feel powerless and impotent and metaphorically castrated, if you will. So you feel the need to make a big, masculine display, to reassert your dominance to try and gain power over an attractive woman. But when she rebuffs you, it reminds you of how emasculated and impotent you actually are, so you try to reassert your power with threats of violence. You ain't really angry at me for refusing you – you're angry at yourself for losing your manhood, although I'm sure it wasn't anything very impressive to begin with."

Buzz didn't quite know how to respond to the verbal onslaught – he just stared dumbly at her. "You got something to say, slick?" demanded Harleen, turning her attention to Jack, who was chuckling madly.

"No, ma'am," said Jack, smiling at her. "Just that you're clearly a damn good shrink."

"Yes, I am," agreed Harleen, turning and striding away. Jack stared after her, beaming.

"That little bitch," hissed Buzz, glaring after her. "How dare she talk to me like that?"

"She's fantastic," said Jack, chuckling as he lay back down on his bed. "I like her a lot. All sass and fire, and that ass ain't anything to complain about neither."

"You ain't got no chance with her if I don't," growled Buzz, laying back down on his bunk. "Of the two of us, I'm the more attractive guy."

"You keep telling yourself that, Buzz," said Jack. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I'm not the one she thinks is impotent though."

"Shut up!" snapped Buzz. "God, this day could not get any worse," he muttered, grabbing his lunch tray back and stuffing his face. "Well, at least we know one thing," he said in between mouthfuls. "That shrink ain't gonna be the one to spring us."

"Oh, I dunno, Buzz," said Jack, shutting his eyes. "You never can tell with dames. Let's just wait and see, shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

"I just think there's more to your stealing impulse than the rush you get in the moment," said Harleen, facing the woman on the sofa. "I think you're using stealing and the high you get from it as a substitute for any kind of meaningful relationship in your life. You think you can fill the void with material possessions, but the truth is what you want is something that can't be stolen."

"And I think I just like nice, expensive, shiny things," retorted the woman. "Also, it doesn't take a shrink to see that my desire to steal from rich people might have something to do with my poor upbringing of having literally nothing."

"Yeah, you're a regular Robin Hood," said Harleen, sarcastically. "I don't think you should see yourself as some noble avenger punishing the rich for being born that way and readdressing the economic injustices of society. Because you, as an individual, can't, and we're talking about you as an individual, not society. Ultimately you're the one who can control if you steal or not, whatever impulses you feel. And I think you'd feel far fewer of those impulses if you found something more meaningful to do with your life – if you made a real meaningful human connection."

"I don't need humans – I have my cats," she retorted.

"And that's a good start, but humans are fundamentally social creatures, and we need good, solid relationships with each other," said Harleen. "I don't necessarily mean a romantic one, but some kind of emotional intimacy with friends or family can really make a world of difference."

"I'm sure, but I'm an orphan, so my family is basically non-existent," she retorted.

"See, again, I think you're looking for excuses," said Harleen. "You got dealt a bad hand in life, I agree. But that doesn't mean you have to keep playing that hand. You can fold, start a new deck, or play a different game. But you have to be the one to make the choice to break out of that pattern, and I think you can, Miss Kyle."

"You got a boyfriend?" asked Selina Kyle.

"I don't see how that's relevant…" began Harleen.

"Well, you're spouting all this stuff about human relationships, but it clearly hasn't worked for you," she retorted. "Why would I take advice from someone who hasn't even taken their own advice?"

"Because I know what I'm talking about…" began Harleen.

"In theory," interrupted Selina. "But that's no good out in the real world, is it? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, Dr. Quinzel, but I think I know a little more about how difficult the world out there can be compared to some shrink who sits up in her ivory tower all day."

"Is that what you think I do?" asked Harleen. "You don't think I have the slightest idea of what the real world is like?"

"Maybe you do," she said, shrugging. "But you don't know what my world is like, so a lot of your advice really won't apply to me. We're two different people from two different worlds, and your theory of living happily ever after if I just find a man is not going to be applicable to me."

"I didn't say just find a man, and I didn't say anything about happily ever after," retorted Harleen. "I said start seeking out meaningful human relationships, romantic or non-romantic, it doesn't matter. Just something with a little emotional sincerity. I think it'll do you a world of good to be better in touch with your feelings."

"And I think I've survived this long in this hellhole of a city by ignoring my feelings," she retorted. She glanced at her watch. "Anyway, the court only ordered an hour of therapy a week as part of my plea bargain, and I think our time is up. So if you'll call the guards, I'll see you next week, Doc."

"Miss Kyle, I really wish you could just think about my advice," said Harleen. "Isn't there anyone in your life who you'd like to get to know on a deeper, more personal level?"

Selina thought for a moment. "Well…there is this one guy…" she began. "We've been sorta…casually flirting, but I can't deny I wouldn't mind things getting a little more serious between us."

"Is he a reliable, trustworthy guy?" asked Harleen.

"Depends what you mean by reliable," replied Selina. "He always shows up when you expect him to, I'll say that for him."

"I just think if you try to become emotionally intimate with a man who has commitment issues, you'll only be disappointed," said Harleen. "So I'd choose carefully, if possible."

"It's not possible," retorted Selina. "You can't choose things like that. You've clearly never been in love, Dr. Quinzel. And you tell me you haven't lived an ivory tower life."

"I know what I'm talking about," repeated Harleen.

"In theory," agreed Selina. "But you haven't had any practice in love, have you, Doc?"

"This isn't about me," retorted Harleen. "I'm trying to help you, Miss Kyle…"

"I'd help yourself first, Doc," she interrupted. "You go out there, get your heart broken a couple times, and then tell me all about the importance of meaningful human relationships. I'm betting you'll come to the conclusion that cats are a lot better too."

There was a knock on the door. "Therapy time's over," said a police officer, entering the room. "We're here to escort Miss Kyle home."

Selina grimaced. "House arrest is the worst," she muttered, adjusting the device on her ankle. "You got people escorting you everywhere, watching your every move…I'll be real glad to get this damn anklet off in a couple weeks."

"Assuming your psychiatrist believes you're cured of your kleptomaniac impulses," said Harleen, lightly. "And recommends that it be removed."

Selina smiled at her. "Well, don't you think I'm all reformed, Doc?"

"We'll see next week," replied Harleen, smiling back.

Selina nodded, and the police officer escorted her to the door. "Look, I'm being a little harsh on you, and I hope you know that I don't mean a lot of what I say," said Selina, turning back to Harleen. "I think you're a really good psychiatrist, Dr. Quinzel. It's really obvious that you care, anyway, and that's the most important thing."

"Thank you, Miss Kyle," said Harleen. "But that doesn't guarantee me recommending you for release, you know."

"I know," said Selina, nodding. "I just think you need some encouragement. You're good at what you do, and you deserve better than to be stuck as an intern here."

"I'll put you as a reference on my resume, how about that?" asked Harleen, grinning. "Selina Kyle, cat burglar extraordinaire."

Selina grinned back and left. "Probably couldn't do any worse on the job front with recommendations like that, actually," sighed Harleen, gathering up her notes. "Still, it was nice of her to say that."

She headed toward the break room, passing the cells where the gangsters were kept. One of them was in therapy, leaving only the overweight one, Sol, and the one with the green eyes, Napier, who was playing a game of cards alone in his cell. He looked up as she passed and smiled at her.

"How are you today, Dr. Quinzel?" he asked.

"I'm doing fine, thank you, Mr. Napier," she replied, walking straight past him toward the door.

"My name's Jack," he said. "What's yours?"

"Dr. Quinzel," she retorted, turning to him.

"Unusual first name," said Jack with a grin. "Your parents had high hopes for your career, Doctor?"

Harleen sighed. "Funny guy. My first name is Harleen," she said.

"Harleen Quinzel," he repeated. "Very nice."

"Thank you," she said, turning away from him. "I'll tell my parents you approve."

"I do," said Jack, smiling at her. "I approve of everything about you, Harleen."

"Dr. Quinzel," she corrected, turning back to him. "We are not on first name terms, Mr. Napier. That wouldn't be very professional, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't, Harleen," he said, smiling. "But I've never been the kinda guy who respects formality and authority."

"That's why you're locked up in here, isn't it?" asked Harleen.

"Maybe," he said, nodding. "What's your excuse?"

"My excuse is that I enjoy my job," retorted Harleen. "I like working with people, and helping people get better. This is a pretty good place to do that."

"Well, it hasn't helped me so far," said Jack, shrugging. "But my shrink's kinda apathetic – I think I'd be much more successful in my therapy with someone a little more sympathetic."

"Good luck," retorted Harleen. "Everyone knows you guys are only in here because your lawyer played the system. Dr. Leland herself said there's nothing psychologically wrong with you than there is a million other criminals. You guys just got lucky."

"Yes, we did," said Jack, smiling at her. "I'm a lucky guy, Doc – always have been. But let me tell you a little secret," he said, beckoning her forward.

Harleen hesitated – she didn't want to go anywhere near him, but she also didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid of him. So she approached him slowly. "Yes?" she asked, standing a few feet away from him.

"I can't tell you a secret from that far away – I need to whisper it in your ear," he said.

"How dumb do you think I am?" demanded Harleen.

"I promise I won't hurt you," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"You think I trust the word of a criminal?" she demanded.

"No," he replied. "But I also think you ain't afraid of me. Are you?"

She drew closer to the bars, but still far enough away that he probably wouldn't be able to bite her if that was his intention – you never could tell with people in a lunatic asylum. His arm suddenly slid between the bars, catching her around the waist as he pulled her sharply against the metal. She felt his breath tickling her ear, and his tongue slowly licked her earlobe as he whispered, "There's plenty wrong with me."

She shoved herself away from him, glaring at him. "Is that supposed to scare me?" she demanded.

"No," he replied, grinning at her. "I don't think you're feeling scared. Are you, Harleen Quinzel?"

She ignored him, turning away and heading toward the break room again. She felt angry more than anything else – her body was flushed and shaking. "Creep," she muttered, wiping her ear as she entered the break room.

"You ok, Harleen?" asked Dr. Leland, noticing how red she was.

"I'm fine, Joan," she said.

"How's Miss Kyle?" asked Dr. Leland.

"I think she's progressing as well as can be expected," said Harleen. "I told her I think her kleptomania could be sublimated if she could find a meaningful human relationship. She said she'd think about it."

"Well, that's more than anyone else has got her to admit," said Dr. Leland, smiling. "Great job, Harleen. I knew you'd be good at this."

"Thanks," said Harleen, opening the fridge and taking out her sandwich, which she ate in sullen silence.

"Is something wrong, Harleen?" asked Dr. Leland.

"It's nothing, Joan," said Harleen. "I just…well…a kleptomaniac and a compulsive gambler…they're a little basic, don't you think?"

"You'd prefer more challenging patients?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Well, yes, actually," said Harleen. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Joan, I'm really not, I'm happy to be seeing any patients at all, but…I just think I'm kinda wasting my talents on really obvious cases. My interest and specialty is in extreme personalities, and I really think I could do the most good with those kinds of cases. I've always enjoyed a challenge, and that's where I think I excel."

"I'm just not comfortable with giving you those until you have a little more experience," said Dr. Leland. "I know you think you're prepared, but these people have a history of eating novices for breakfast, sometimes literally."

"I'm not an idiot, Joan," said Harleen. "I know they're dangerous. But I also know I can handle it, and I wish people would just trust me to know what I'm talking about, for once." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I know I sound thankless and demanding, but…everything in my life is pretty disappointing at the moment. I just want my work at least to be rewarding, personally if not financially."

Dr. Leland nodded slowly. "Well…let me think about it," she said. "I promise you I will."

"Thanks, Joan," said Harleen, sincerely. "I really appreciate it."

Dr. Bartholomew entered the break room at that moment. "God, I need this," he sighed, removing a Philly cheesesteak from the fridge.

"The gangsters are as bad as we expected?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Worse," sighed Dr. Bartholomew. "That guy Napier just treats the whole thing like a joke, changing his story every time I ask him a question. Bronski just sits in uncooperative silence, and Sol could make progress if he wasn't so stupid. But I'm hardly going to waste my time and energy actually trying to help someone who doesn't even know why he does the things he does."

"Isn't that your job?" asked Harleen. "To help him discover why he does it?"

"I'm not a miracle worker," retorted Dr. Bartholomew. "He just tells me he doesn't know to every question I ask, and asks me to use smaller words. It's not my fault the man dropped out of elementary school and can't understand basic English. I can't dumb down my therapy to accommodate him."

"Then I don't see how you're going to help him," said Harleen.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm not," retorted Dr. Bartholomew, microwaving his lunch. "I'll go through the motions for a few more weeks, but then I'm just going to sign them off as sane and send them back to Blackgate where they belong."

"I don't think that's fair," said Harleen. "I mean, it is to Bronski and Napier, sure, but if there's even the slightest possibility that you can help rehabilitate Sol, then surely you have to try?"

"Don't tell me how to do my job, young lady," snapped Dr. Bartholomew, rounding on her. "May I remind you that you're an intern here, and as such you're not to question your elders and betters. I understand that you might have some sympathy for these men, having a criminal background yourself, but don't let your sympathy cloud your judgment!"

"You're letting your prejudice cloud your judgment, isn't that worse?" demanded Harleen.

"I won't take criticism from someone like you," retorted Dr. Bartholomew, removing his lunch from the microwave. "I'm going to eat in my office – good day, Dr. Leland," he said, storming out.

Harleen returned to her own lunch, shaking in fury again. "Harleen, how would you like to try and take on Chuckie Sol as your patient?" asked Dr. Leland, slowly. "He might be just the challenge you need. He doesn't seem as dangerous as the other two, but getting through to him is going to need the skills of someone more patient, and frankly, more intelligent than Dr. Bartholomew. If you want to try, I'll gladly transfer him over to you."

Harleen nodded slowly. "I'd…like that very much. Thank you, Joan."

"Dr. Bartholomew won't be happy about it," sighed Dr. Leland. "But what else is new? Frankly, he could do with being taken down a peg. And I can't wait to see the look on his face when you successfully rehabilitate Chuckie Sol."

She smiled at her, and Harleen smiled back. Chuckie Sol probably wasn't an extreme personality, but at least he was a start.


	4. Chapter 4

"First off, Mr. Sol, I'd like you to feel that you can be completely open and honest with me," said Harleen, smiling at her new patient. "Anything you share with me will be kept in the strictest confidence."

Chuckie stared at her. "Uh…what does that mean exactly?" he asked, slowly.

"It means that I won't tell anyone what you say in these sessions we have together," said Harleen. "Not the cops, not your fellow gang members, and not my fellow psychiatrists. This is all just between you and me, and I don't judge. That's not my job – my job is to help you get better, and the only way I can do that is if you tell me the truth. Ok?"

Chuckie nodded. "I just…I don't want to say anything that might get me into trouble. And I know you say you won't tell anyone, but I know Jack…" He trailed off.

"You know Jack what?" prompted Harleen.

"Jack…has a way of making people talk, even when they don't want to," finished Chuckie, slowly. "And I saw you and he were getting cozy earlier…"

"I can assure you, Mr. Sol, we were not," interrupted Harleen. "I would never become…cozy with a man like that."

Chuckie shrugged. "Jack's good at making people change their minds. Especially women – he calls it charm."

"Well, I don't find being groped or licked charming," retorted Harleen. "I'm not sure what sort of women he's used to dealing with, but his so-called charm is not going to work on me."

"He thinks it'll be our way out," said Chuckie. "Get a shrink on his side, and they'll help us escape from here. But Jack's plans don't always work out the way he says they will."

"So why do you work with him?" asked Harleen.

Chuckie shrugged again. "Jack's smart – I'm not. I mean, yeah, his plans don't always work, but if I were in charge, none of 'em would work. I don't have the brain for strategy and stuff like that. I don't think things through. I'm the muscle, not the brains."

"He told you that?" asked Harleen.

"Everyone's told me that," replied Chuckie. "Ever since I was a kid, other kids would call me 'big, dumb, slow Chuckie.' And even my mom said God went easy on the smarts when he was making me."

"That's horrible," said Harleen. "You must have felt so hurt."

Chuckie shrugged again. "I guess I was then. I haven't thought about it in a long time. And there's no point getting upset about it now – gotta work with what you got, not wish for more."

"That's a very mature sentiment," said Harleen. "But still, you must have a lack of self-esteem which is clearly influencing you to this day, undermining your confidence and forcing you to throw your lot in with gangsters because you don't think you deserve any better."

Chuckie was silent. "Can you…explain that without the big words?" he asked, slowly. "I'm sorry, I just…don't understand."

Harleen smiled kindly at him. "Chuckie, I think you're a good person," she said. "You're not like Jack and Buzz – you're not a criminal because you're bad. I think you're a criminal because you think that's what you deserve to be. People have told you all your life that you're worthless, so much so that you believed them. And you don't think you deserve better than the life you have, going from prison to prison – you've convinced yourself that that's all you're capable of. But I think you're wrong, Chuckie. I think you're worth much more. And you have to start believing that about yourself. You have to start believing that you deserve better, that you can break out of the life you've trapped yourself in and be good again."

Chuckie shook his head slowly. "Nah, I've done lots of bad stuff…you can't be good again after you do stuff like that…"

"Yes, you can, Chuckie," interrupted Harleen. "You have to stop telling yourself that you can't. You need to start thinking that you can. I'm sure you have lots of skills and talents just waiting to be discovered – what did you used to like to do as a kid?"

Chuckie scratched his head. "Well…I used to like to draw a little…"

"Perfect," said Harleen, handing him her notepad. "Go ahead, draw something for me."

"Aw, it's been years," said Chuckie, pushing it back toward her. "I won't be any good anymore…"

"It doesn't have to be good – the important thing is to try," said Harleen. "Go ahead. Here, I'm not a very good artist either, but here's a flower," she said, tracing a shape on the paper. "Can you do that?"

"Nah, I can't," said Chuckie. "I can maybe draw a dog though."

"I'd love to see that," said Harleen. "Please try, Chuckie."

Chuckie reluctantly took the paper from her. "Nah, it's no good," he said, after drawing a few lines. "I can't do it."

"Chuckie, I promise, you can," said Harleen. "And I bet you can draw a better dog than me. That's my effort," she said, drawing a stick figure. "I know you can beat that."

Chuckie took the pen back, and slowly traced the shape of a dog on the paper. "There, you see?" said Harleen, smiling at him. "I'm a doctor, and you're better than me at drawing. Doesn't that give you any confidence in your abilities?"

Chuckie looked blankly at her. "Doesn't that make you feel good about yourself?" said Harleen, trying to reword it.

"Yeah…it kinda does," agreed Chuckie. "Hey, this is great," he said, smiling as he returned his attention to the paper. "Lemme try drawing a bird now…"

"I'll tell Dr. Leland to make sure you have plenty of paper in your cell," said Harleen. "It's important for an artist to be able to work."

"Aw, I ain't an artist," said Chuckie, blushing.

"Isn't it better to think of yourself as that than to think of yourself as a criminal?" asked Harleen. "Doesn't that sound better? And doesn't that make you feel better?"

"Uh huh, it does," said Chuckie, smiling at her. "But it ain't true…" he began, his face falling.

"Well, start by pretending it is," interrupted Harleen. "And believe it is. That's the first step into making it a reality. Anyway, you're an artist if you're creating art, and you are creating art, aren't you?"

Chuckie nodded slowly, drawing some more shapes. "This is real nice of you, Dr. Quinzel," he said, smiling up at her. "That other shrink, he asked me a lotta tough questions about my childhood, but this is more fun, letting me draw like this. He got real mad at me too, but you're a lot nicer than he was."

"I think it's important to be kind to people," said Harleen. "Especially to people who are struggling."

"Yeah, I know Jack and Buzz will be happy about it too," said Chuckie, nodding.

"Oh, they're not my patients, Chuckie," said Harleen. "Which is good – I don't think it would be easy to be kind to them."

"Why not?" asked Chuckie, looking up at her. "They ain't bad guys either, not really. They're just trying to make a living like everybody else. And after I tell them what a great shrink you are, I'm sure they'll be begging to be switched over to you."

"Yes, I'm sure they will," muttered Harleen. "I think…some people choose to be bad, Chuckie. For whatever reason, and sometimes those reasons are very persuasive, but…it's hard to be nice to people who you know wouldn't be nice to you."

"I think they'd be nice to you," said Chuckie. "They're always talking about how pretty you are."

"Yes, and guys like that aren't always nice to girls they think are pretty," said Harleen. "Especially if the pretty girl isn't interested in them."

"Oh. I thought you were interested in Jack," said Chuckie, confused.

"Why…would you think that?" asked Harleen, slowly.

He shrugged. "I wasn't spying on you or nothing, but…the way your body was shaking when he touched you, and the look in your eyes…I mean, I ain't had a lotta experience with women, but…you looked interested to me."

"Well, I'm not," retorted Harleen, feeling indignant at the very idea. "Though I'm sure he thinks I am too – he seems to have that kind of ego that assumes everybody loves him."

She sighed, glancing at the clock. "Our time is nearly up, Chuckie – why don't you keep that notebook for drawing in your free time?"

"Gee, thanks, Dr. Quinzel," he said, beaming at her. "You're just the best."

Harleen smiled back, and escorted him back to his cell, where both Jack and Buzz were lingering. "Doc, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," said Jack, smiling at her. "I've been thinking it over, and I don't think it was right of me to place my hands or any other part of my body on you without your consent."

"No, it wasn't," retorted Harleen. "But it's all right – I understand that you thought it would be charming, for some reason. Apparently your dubious charm is going to be the key in enlisting the help of one of us to break you out of here, but sadly you're not that charming, Mr. Napier."

Buzz stared at her. "Chuckie, you idiot, you weren't supposed to tell the shrink!" he hissed.

"He didn't tell me," said Harleen. "I figured it out for myself. Why else would you both be trying so hard to attract me? I feel sorry for you more than anything else – you actually think that's the way to win a woman to your side, which shows how little you know about women."

"You got us, Doc," sighed Jack, smiling at her. "So you're not interested at all?"

"No, of course not!" retorted Harleen. "What kind of woman would be interested in a man like you?"

"I dunno, Harleen," replied Jack, grinning. "What kind of woman do you think?"

Harleen said nothing, storming off. She had been right about Jack – the man was clearly arrogant enough to think that she did have some interest in him. Maybe he deserved to be locked in here after all.


	5. Chapter 5

"And Dr. Quinzel says…" began Chuckie.

"Jesus, put a sock in it, will ya, Chuckie?" interrupted Buzz, glaring up from his magazine. "Dr. Quinzel, Dr. Quinzel, that's all you ever talk about anymore! Not that your conversation was ever that stimulating to begin with, but change the record, for God's sake!"

"Can't blame him," chuckled Jack, flipping over a card in his game. "Chuckie's a lucky guy to get to have her one on one."

"Dr. Quinzel says I don't have to listen to you anymore," retorted Chuckie, sticking his tongue out at Buzz. "She says I can do better than just being a criminal for the rest of my life."

"Well, she's a dumb blonde, ain't she?" demanded Buzz, turning a page in his magazine. "What kinda future do you think you got that ain't criminal, Chuckie?"

"Dr. Quinzel says I could be an artist…" began Chuckie.

Buzz burst out laughing. "Yeah, that'll happen! I've seen your little drawings – nobody would pay a nickel for those! Even really talented people can't make a living being an artist – what chance do you think you've got?"

"Dr. Quinzel says I got just as much chance as anyone," retorted Chuckie. "She says I just need to believe in myself."

"Dumb blonde, like I said," retorted Buzz.

"Now Buzz, there's no need to be rude," said Jack. "Dr. Quinzel's clearly just being the sweet and compassionate gal she is. I tell ya, I get more attracted to that dame by the minute."

"And I tell ya, you ain't got no chance with her," retorted Buzz. "She hates your guts."

"I don't think Dr. Quinzel is mean enough to ever hate anyone," said Chuckie. "But she did say she didn't think you were a nice guy."

"And you're so sure she wants a nice guy, are you?" chuckled Jack.

"All dames want a nice guy," retorted Chuckie. "Unless they're crazy or stupid, and Dr. Quinzel ain't crazy or stupid. She's the smartest, sanest person I've ever met."

"Yeah, and don't you find that just the tiniest bit suspicious, Chuckie?" asked Jack. "I know you ain't the brightest bulb in the shed, but just think about it for one second. Here's a gal who's got it all – looks, brains, heart. So why is she wasting her life interning here? She could have it all – she could find some rich guy to marry her and live a life of luxury, or she could be the head of this damn hospital if that's what she wanted. But she ain't. Which tells me there's something wrong with her."

"There's nothing wrong with Dr. Quinzel…" began Chuckie, defensively.

"I don't mean wrong exactly, but…there's something about her that's stopping her from going further in her life and career," said Jack. "Something that's holding her back, both personally and professionally. I don't know if it's something she's built up in her head so she's too scared to try, or if it's something objectively wrong that other people pick up on, but…there's something about her. I wanna find out what it is."

"Why?" asked Buzz. "You hoping you can blackmail her into helping us since charm hasn't worked?"

"Oh, I'm not gonna give up on charm just yet," said Jack with a smile.

"Well, good luck getting near her to use that charm," retorted Buzz. "She's only around to drop off Chuckie and go to the break room, and she ignores us every time she does either of those things."

"Oh Buzz, you're so small-minded," sighed Jack, standing up as he saw Dr. Leland heading toward the break room. "Watch and learn. Dr. Leland, I wonder if I might have a word, ma'am," he said, politely.

"Of course, Mr. Napier, what is it?" asked Dr. Leland, turning to him.

"I've been hearing all sorts of great things from my pal Chuckie about Dr. Quinzel," said Jack, nodding at Chuckie. "He just can't stop raving about her fantastic abilities as a psychiatrist. The way he tells it, she seems like a miracle worker."

"Yes, Dr. Quinzel is one of our best psychiatrists," agreed Dr. Leland. "You'll get no argument from me there."

"I'm sure she is," agreed Jack, nodding. "And I was just wondering, since she's such a fantastic shrink, why I, for one, can't be as lucky as Chuckie, and get to experience her incredible therapy first-hand. My doctor just doesn't seem that interested in helping me…"

"The way Dr. Bartholomew tells it, you're not that interested in being helped," retorted Dr. Leland. "He says you keep changing your story."

"Oh, that's not intentional – I'm afraid my old memory just ain't as reliable as it used to be," sighed Jack, tapping on his forehead. "After my little accident, y'know."

"What accident?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Oh, I got hit in the head with a crowbar by some guy from a rival gang during a fight," Jack sighed. "And ever since then, the memory's a little hazy. I guess that makes me a challenging case for the shrink, and I'm sorry about that, but sometimes I remember things one way, and sometimes another. I get the feeling from my shrink that he just doesn't care enough to try and help me though – I guess he thinks I'm faking all this because I don't wanna take my therapy seriously."

"Do you?" asked Dr. Leland, skeptically.

"Look, Doc, I'll be the first to admit I was happy to be put in here just so I could stay outta prison," said Jack, nodding. "I thought an asylum would be a nice, cushy place to hang out for a while. But I've really seen a change in Chuckie over the past few weeks, and he's opened my eyes to what a really good shrink can do for a person. He's inspired me to think that maybe there's hope for any of us to change, even someone as worthless as me. I mean, I am worthless, Doc, I ain't kidding myself. Even you think so, right? You think we're a bunch of stone-cold criminals with no hope for reform."

"No, I didn't say that…" began Dr. Leland.

"Well, there's gotta be some reason why you don't want me to have the best shrink, who you just said was Dr. Quinzel," said Jack. "I get it – you don't wanna waste her talents on a guy like me, who's doomed to be a heartless criminal to the end of his days. She's only got so much time for patients, and she should spend that time on people she can actually help, not lost causes like me."

"I never said you were a lost cause, Mr. Napier," said Dr. Leland. "I don't believe in lost causes."

"Then you'll swap me over to Dr. Quinzel, won't you?" asked Jack. "Please, Dr. Leland. I think I'm mostly beyond hope, but with a sweet, kind, compassionate gal like that…well, the hope's not entirely lost. And it's been a long time since a guy like me could even hope to be good again."

Dr. Leland nodded slowly. "I'll…ask her if she'll consider taking on another patient. No promises, mind, but it never hurts to ask."

"I'd really appreciate it, Doc," said Jack, beaming at her. "More than words can express."

Dr. Leland headed into the break room, and Buzz snorted. "You are such a liar," he muttered. "You never had any crowbar accident or memory problems."

"I'm a convincing liar – what can I say?" retorted Jack, returning to his card game.

"Anyway, you might have Dr. Leland fooled, but Dr. Quinzel is gonna say no, and she has the final say," continued Buzz. "She's never gonna agree to voluntarily be alone with you."

"I think she will," said Jack. "If she refuses to take me on, she'll think I'll think she's afraid of me, and she doesn't want to give me the satisfaction of thinking that. Anyway, she ain't afraid of me, and she likes a challenge. I think it'll be an offer she can't refuse."

"I'm with Chuckie – Dr. Quinzel's not crazy or stupid," retorted Buzz. "And a smart girl in her right mind wouldn't have anything to do with you."

"I agree," said Jack, smiling as he shuffled the cards. "Which is why I'm betting she's not in her right mind. I mean, she's definitely smart, and it's gotta be one or the other."

"Jack, I don't want you even thinking about hurting her if she does agree," said Chuckie, sternly. "Because I'll hurt you if you do."

"Perish the thought, Chuckie," said Jack. "I've promised her I won't hurt her. Crossed my heart and hoped to die and everything. Besides, she can take care of herself. She's a smart, sophisticated, strong woman capable of making her own decisions."

"But you think she's crazy," pointed out Buzz.

"No reason a gal can't be smart, sophisticated, strong and crazy," said Jack, shrugging as he dealt another hand of solitaire. "Anyway, I'm not interested in hurting her. I'm only interested in finding out what that something about her is. She likes a challenge and so do I, and my challenge is to figure out what's wrong with Dr. Quinzel."

"While her challenge is figuring out what's wrong with you," finished Buzz, nodding. "Gee, in a competition between a shrink and a criminal to see who can figure someone out first, my money's all on Dr. Quinzel. That is her job, after all - it's just the smart bet."

"I normally like long-shot odds," agreed Chuckie. "But I'm with Buzz – there's no way you're better at getting into people's heads than Dr. Quinzel."

"I'm probably better than you think," murmured Jack, turning over a joker card. "But let's just wait and see, shall we, boys?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Good morning, Mr. Napier," said Harleen, as a guard escorted Jack into the therapy room the next day.

"Good morning, Dr. Quinzel," he said, taking a seat on the sofa and smiling at her.

"You want him secured?" asked the guard, reaching for the cuffs.

"Thank you, that won't be necessary," said Harleen, holding up her hand to stop him. "You can leave us. There are guards monitoring the security cameras in case there's trouble, but I don't think there will be any, will there, Mr. Napier?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," he replied, still smiling.

The guard left them, shutting the door. Harleen leaned back in her chair, turning to a fresh page in her notebook. "So I heard from Dr. Leland that you requested this transfer after hearing Chuckie sing my praises," she said. "You're hoping I can make the same progress with you?"

"If anyone can, it's you, Dr. Quinzel," he said, nodding.

"No Harleen today?" she asked.

"No, I was very disrespectful of you before, ma'am, and I'm sorry," he replied. "I acted like an idiot around a pretty girl – I ain't the first guy to do that, but I apologize all the same."

"I appreciate your apology, Mr. Napier," she said, taking out her pen. "So…why do you think you do the things you do?"

"Why do you think I do them?" asked Jack.

"No, this isn't how this works," said Harleen, looking up at him sternly. "I ask you a question, and you give me an answer, not another question. You're an intelligent man, Mr. Napier – I want to hear your theory about why you're a criminal."

"It's not a theory - I'm good at it, and I enjoy it," replied Jack, shrugging. "Can't ask more out of your job than that, can you, Dr. Quinzel? Oh, and money I guess, but the pay's good too, so no complaints there!" he chuckled. "I'm sure you feel the same about your job, but I'd wager mine pays better."

"If money is all you care about, it probably does," agreed Harleen. "But most people also crave a sense of purpose and the satisfaction of a job well done."

"I get that from my job," said Jack, nodding. "You gotta do a good job as a criminal or you'll end up dead or in prison. I guess my last heist wasn't a job well done, which is why I'm in here," he chuckled. "And of course, there's the thrill you get from committing crimes."

"I was just speaking to a kleptomaniac about that same thrill," said Harleen, writing something down. "I told her I thought she was using that thrill as a substitute for real intimacy. There were emotional connections missing in her life, and she filled the void with the thrill of these dangerous crimes. I'm betting you don't have any real emotional connections in your life, Mr. Napier."

"You mean a gal or something?" asked Jack. "Nope, I'm free as a bird."

"I never could have guessed," said Harleen, sarcastically.

"And I've never been the kinda guy who needs a gal," continued Jack. "Or emotional validation from anyone. People are disposable – there are a lot more where they came from."

"So you've never felt the need to feel special to anyone," said Harleen.

"Nope. Have you?" he asked. She glared at him again. "Sorry, you ask the questions," he said. "I'm just used to a little give and take in my conversations. It helps me relax if I don't feel like I'm being interrogated."

"I think everyone wants to feel special to someone, deep down," said Harleen. "And a lot of our impulses are driven by that, even if we don't realize it. I mean, there's the rare psychopath who genuinely doesn't, but I haven't decided if you're genuinely psychopathic or not, Mr. Napier."

"I've been told so," replied Jack. "It's probably another reason why I'm good at my job – I automatically disconnect from the people I have to hurt. I lack empathy, or so other shrinks have said."

"How many shrinks have you had?" asked Harleen.

"Oh, lots," said Jack. "I've been in and outta prison from an early age, and there was always some shrink there thinking they could cure me. Never worked though, so I guess I came to consider myself as incurable."

"But you think I can cure the incurable?" she asked.

"Well, like I told Doc Leland, Chuckie talks like you're a miracle worker," he said, shrugging. "Might as well see what you can do."

"And if I somehow could reform you, what do you see yourself doing with your life?" asked Harleen.

"Well, settling down, maybe," he said. "Finding honest work and a nice gal…"

"Who you're somehow magically going to emotionally connect with, even though you can't empathize with people?" asked Harleen.

"She'd have to be a special gal, you're right," said Jack, nodding. "Someone who could overlook or understand my lack of empathy, a shrink maybe."

"If you can't empathize with people, you're probably incapable of loving people," said Harleen. "And nobody, not even a shrink, is going to stay with a guy who can't love her."

"Well, it's not confirmed that I can't empathize with people," said Jack, shrugging. "I mean, I haven't so far, but maybe I just haven't met the right person to awaken those kinds of tender feelings in me. Maybe my lack of empathy is because I'm afraid of making myself emotionally vulnerable to others."

Harleen put her pen down. "You're a smart guy, aren't you, Mr. Napier?" she asked. "You know fundamental psychology, and you're trying to play me at my own game. You've seen so many shrinks that you think you know how this game is played, you think you know what we want to hear, and you think you can predict the answers that will best manipulate us. You're currently attempting the 'you're the only one who can understand me' gambit, which is a classic ploy among all kinds of unsavory and emotionally manipulative men. Trying to paint yourself as a poor, misunderstood victim who needs saving, which often works on kind, compassionate people."

"Oooh, very nice," said Jack, smiling at her. "I like a smart dame."

"Trust me, I can see that game a mile off," retorted Harleen. "Men have been trying that one on me my whole life. I'm not stupid enough to think I can save anyone, because people ultimately have to save themselves. So I won't fall for that one, Mr. Napier, but feel free to try another."

Jack grinned. "Oh, I like this," he said, leaning forward. "It's no fun when the shrinks are gullible – give a lot of 'em the abusive father, absent mother sob story and they're putty in your hands. But you're sharp, Doc."

"I am," agreed Harleen. "You won't be able to play me, so you should give up now."

"I like a challenge," said Jack with a smile. "But now it's your turn. What kinda game are you gonna play on me to try and entice me into telling you something real about myself?"

"I don't have to play games, Mr. Napier," retorted Harleen. "Nobody's going to be surprised if your rehabilitation proves unsuccessful, so if you don't cooperate with me, I'll just tell Dr. Leland there's nothing I can do for you. I can just certify you sane and send you back to Blackgate, like Dr. Bartholomew wants."

"You're right – you have the upper hand," agreed Jack, nodding. "And you don't have to play any games with me. But don't you want to?"

"No, I don't," replied Harleen.

"It's the only way I'll play along," said Jack. "And it's the only way you're getting any kinda truth outta me. You can't tell me you can resist that."

"You're not that irresistible, Mr. Napier, as hard as that probably is for you to believe," said Harleen. He just smiled at her, leaning back on the sofa and folding his arms across his chest. "But I suppose anything's better than just sitting in silence for an hour," she sighed, picking up her pen again. "Have you always liked games?"

"Oh yeah," said Jack, smiling. "Ever since I was little, I could never get enough of 'em. I treat everything in my life like a game, and crime is an especially fun game that I enjoy playing."

"And when people get hurt, is that a game to you?" she asked. "Maybe I can get confirmation of that psychopath diagnosis."

"Sometimes you lose pieces playing games, like chess," retorted Jack. "It's a shame, but that's the nature of the game, isn't it?"

"So you actually are as cold and emotionally distant as you pretend to be?" asked Harleen.

"That's your job to figure out, Doc," he retorted. "I'm an unsolved mystery, and people just can't resist that."

"I think you have an overinflated sense of your own ego," said Harleen. "You think too much of yourself, and Chuckie thinks too little. If you could somehow share a little of your self-worth with each other, you'd have a perfectly balanced, normal human being."

"Being normal is overrated, Doc," replied Jack. "As I'm sure you know."

"You don't think I'm normal?" asked Harleen.

"I know you ain't," he replied. "That's why you're stuck here, isn't it?"

"I'm a doctor, not a patient, Mr. Napier," she retorted.

"You're an intern," he corrected. "And you're still stuck here. I'm betting this isn't how you saw your life panning out, but you haven't done anything to change it. And that seems unusual for a smart, driven woman, as you so obviously are."

"How do you know what I've done?" asked Harleen.

"I don't – I just know whatever it was didn't work," he said. "And that seems odd for a woman of your talents. You've gotta have a pretty impressive resume, right? Every mental hospital in the country should be trying to snap you up. So why aren't they?"

"I thought I told you I asked the questions here," snapped Harleen.

"Fine – there's no need to get touchy," said Jack. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. You've already told me enough by your response," he added.

Harleen smiled. "Ok, slick," she said. "You think you've got me figured out, and that you can rattle me by spouting your little theories. So let me share one of my own – I think this whole game thing of yours is a kind of deflection, but not because you're afraid of making yourself emotionally vulnerable, although maybe that's part of it. But I think you're actually afraid of facing reality."

"Mmm, interesting," he said, smiling at her. "Tell me more."

"Well, it's pretty basic, really," said Harleen, shrugging. "You're not such a complex guy when you get down to it – you're incredibly simple and obvious. Objectively you're a terrible human being, and you've screwed up your life beyond all saving. But rather than face the fact that you're a failure, you pretend like it's not important. You pretend like you're playing some imaginary game, and it doesn't matter whether you win or lose the game as long as you're having fun. But life's not really that kind of game, is it? There are winners and losers, and you're a loser. And you know it."

"Now what makes you think I'm losing?" he asked, grinning.

"Oh, I dunno," retorted Harleen. "You're locked up in a mental asylum for a start. First you've failed as a human being by getting involved in a life of crime, and then you've failed as a criminal by getting caught. Even in Monopoly, getting sent to jail ain't a good thing."

"It is if you got a get out of jail free card," replied Jack.

"And what do you believe that to be?" asked Harleen. "Your smarts? Your charm? The truth is you've played both those cards, and they haven't helped you. Because the reality is those ain't worth much in here, because I'm smarter than you."

"Are you?" asked Jack. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm a doctor," retorted Harleen. "And also not a criminal, the lowest of the low. No smart person would choose to be that, because crime doesn't pay. If it did, you'd be rich somewhere, in a yacht wearing fine suits on your own private island. But instead you're stuck in here, sharing a cell with another criminal and wearing a loose fitting jumpsuit so you can't hurt yourself. Even in a game, that's a pretty pathetic outcome. And I don't think you're having as much fun as you pretend."

"I am now," he said, smiling at her.

"I'm glad," said Harleen. "Because this is probably really the only fun you have in here. I know your type – you like to be out there, getting a piece of the action. It's driving you crazy being locked in here, but you're trying not to show it – it would hurt a cool, calm, collected guy like you to admit that anything gets to you. But you can't ignore the reality of your situation forever, and one of these days your delusions are gonna come crashing down, and you'll realize that you're just a sad, small man who's wasted his life on childish games and horrific crimes. Maybe you do belong in here because of those delusions, but you'd better hope to God I can't cure you of 'em because that would really break you. And you're pathetic enough as it is."

He chuckled. "I do enjoy a gal who talks dirty," he murmured.

"Like I said, I'm glad," repeated Harleen. "You've got nothing else to enjoy in here."

"You do get to me, you know," he said, grinning at her. "Just a little bit. I think it's because I actually respect you, which is a rare thing for me. But you can't help caring a little about the opinions of people you respect."

"If you really respected me, you wouldn't have treated me the way you have," retorted Harleen.

"Not necessarily," he replied. "I respect you enough to show you I'm interested. People are disposable, like I said. It's rare that I find one who catches my eye. You should be honored."

"Honored that you see me as a piece of meat?" demanded Harleen.

"I don't see you as that," he replied. "I mean, I'm not blind. I'm a red-blooded male and you're an attractive dame. But I'm not a superficial guy – attraction for me ain't just the physical. There's something different about you, something unusual, and that's what fascinates me. It's the combination of looks and brains and…something else. Something I can't put my finger on."

He leaned forward, and placed his outstretched fingers on her hand. "But you feel it too, don't you?" he murmured, as his fingertips slowly slid over the back of her hand, and onto her wrist, trailing up her arm. "Something electric pulling us toward each other…"

"Please don't ever touch me again," interrupted Harleen, ripping her arm away from him.

"Whatever you say, Doc," he murmured, grinning. "I can't help notice that you're shaking though."

"I'm shuddering at being touched by a creep like you," she retorted.

"Mmm, I'm shuddering at the thought too, Doc," he murmured. "But then you have got me all hot and bothered already with all your dirty talk. I'm really liking this game so far."

"If you insist on seeing this as a game, I'm going to win it, Mr. Napier," she said.

"I think we both are," said Jack with a smile. "I can't wait for checkmate."

There was a knock on the door. "Time's up, Dr. Quinzel," said the guard, entering the room. "I'm here to take him back to his cell. Stay behind the line, scum," he added, grabbing Jack by the shoulder and shoving him back across the line that separated the patient's sofa from the doctor's chair. "You sure you don't want him restrained for next time? We can chain him up and handcuff him."

"No, thank you, that won't be necessary," said Harleen. "I'm not afraid of him. And I wouldn't want to give him any ideas."

Jack chuckled. "You ok, Doc?" asked the guard, dragging Jack to his feet. "You look flushed."

"It's a little hot in here, that's all," said Harleen. "This room's always a little stuffy. Nothing opening a window won't solve."

The guard nodded, pulling Jack out of the room. Harleen went over to the window and opened it, letting the brisk Gotham air wash over her. The room _was_ stuffy, and that had given her a headache which spread through her body, a low, dull, throbbing pain like an electric current running through her. The thought of electricity reminded her of Jack, and she felt her flush of anger deepen. "That arrogant jerk," she muttered, as she shut the window. "I'm really looking forward to breaking him."


	7. Chapter 7

"You don't think this is a little on the nose?" asked Jack, smiling at Harleen at their next session together. "We're going to play an actual game of chess?"

"Why not? Scared you'll lose?" asked Harleen. "I thought you liked games. Here, I'll even let you be white and go first," she said, turning the board so that the white pieces faced him.

"No, ladies first," he said, turning it back. "I can't help but feel if either of us is the black sheep here, it's me."

"Are you proud of that?" asked Harleen.

"You know, I am, a little," said Jack, smiling. "It takes a certain skill to be as bad as I am."

"I always wonder how people like you reconcile yourselves," said Harleen, moving her pawn forward. "There are people who do bad things but think they're doing them for a good cause, or what they perceive to be right. But you're bad and you know it. And you just don't seem to care. Do you think of yourself as a villain?"

"Now you're just being melodramatic, Doc," said Jack, moving his pawn forward to match hers. "There are no heroes and villains in real life, everyone knows that. Of course I don't think of myself as a villain, anymore than you think of yourself as a hero just for living a decent life. People are just people. The choices I've made have been the right ones for me at the time – I don't regret anything I've done. I think that's really all you can say for your own life, looking back."

"Do you think about the people you hurt at all?" asked Harleen. "Their potential lives wasted, their families' pain at their suffering and absence?"

"No, not really," he said. "Must be that lack of empathy, huh? Anyway, they probably would have made the same decisions I made at the time too."

"You think all people surrender to their worst instincts?" asked Harleen, moving another pawn.

"Not all," he replied, countering hers. "Just most. You probably haven't ever done that, for instance. Have you?"

"What did I say about questions?" asked Harleen, moving her knight over. "But of course I have, once or twice. We all have. To err is human."

"That's right," said Jack, nodding. "So why beat yourself up about being human?" he asked, taking her pawn with his bishop.

"Is this what you wanted to be when you were little?" asked Harleen. "A criminal? Don't you think little Jack Napier would be pretty disappointed in the guy you've turned into today?"

"Probably," agreed Jack. "But kids are dumb. They don't understand how the world works yet."

"What did you want to be when you grew up?" asked Harleen, taking his pawn with her knight.

"Honest?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I hope you're answering all my questions honestly," she retorted. "Or what's the point?"

Jack grinned. "I wanted to be a clown," he said.

"Well, that explains a lot," said Harleen. "No ambition even as a child – just wanting to slack off and have fun all day."

"Partially," agreed Jack, nodding. "And partially because I liked making people laugh. My first girlfriend only agreed to go out with me because I made her laugh."

"Tell me about her," said Harleen.

"Don't remember much now," said Jack. "It was a long time ago. But I do remember she had a great pair of tits…"

"I meant tell me about her as a person," interrupted Harleen. "Why would I care about her physical appearance?"

"Why would you care about her as a person?" he asked. "I can assure you, aside from her physical appearance, she made absolutely no impression on me."

"I'm technically the one who decides that, you know," said Harleen. "I don't ask these questions for no reason."

"And you're hoping to blame my descent into darkness on heartbreak from a young age, is that it?" chuckled Jack. "Or maybe you just want to hear about what I like in a woman."

"You were closer on the first one," retorted Harleen. "But I certainly wouldn't blame any woman for your descent. I would blame her for being stupid enough to go out with you in the first place, but I guess she was probably young and naïve, and you probably weren't a fully fledged criminal then."

"No," agreed Jack. "Probably wouldn't have needed to make her laugh to get her to go out with me if I was – dames do love a bad boy. Why do you think that is?"

"I think it's because a lot of them mistake toughness for strength," said Harleen. "And confuse danger with excitement."

"Oh, but danger is a thrill all to itself," replied Jack. "You mean to tell me you haven't experienced that particular brand of excitement? It's completely unique, trust me."

"I already answered one question of yours, and that's all I'm doing today," retorted Harleen, moving her rook. "Check," she added.

"Fine," sighed Jack, moving his king out of check. "I was going to ask if you remembered your first boyfriend. You know, they say you never forget your first, but I think that's a load of crap. What if it just wasn't particularly memorable? For dames especially – a lotta young guys have no idea what they're doing, and you probably don't wanna remember something fairly unpleasant and uncomfortable. I remember I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Learned now, though," he added with a grin. "And the dames tell me I've learned pretty good."

"You know, the last thing I want you to talk about is your sex life," snapped Harleen.

"Why? I thought all shrinks loved talking about that," he chuckled. "You think the sexual drive is the reason for everything."

"Freud does – I don't," retorted Harleen. "I think feeling loved is a big motivation for most people, but that doesn't necessarily mean sex. You can be loved by friends and family, for instance."

"And that's good enough for you, is it?" asked Jack. "When you get angry, your accent slips back into a Brooklyn twang, so I'm betting that's where your family is from. For someone who seems to think that all psychological problems can be solved by meaningful emotional connections, you're pretty far away from the people who are important to you."

"Well, I got my career to think about," replied Harleen.

"You mean you couldn't be a low-paid intern in Brooklyn?" asked Jack. "I find that hard to believe. You might even be able to get away from the intern gig there, unless you're some sort of masochist who enjoys working for peanuts."

"Well, people who actually have jobs know that you probably shouldn't leave one, however badly paid, until you have another one to go to," retorted Harleen. "Money makes the world go round, I don't have to tell you that."

"No, you don't," agreed Jack. "So you haven't been able to find another job, huh?"

"I didn't say that," snapped Harleen.

"You implied it," he replied, smiling. "If the job market's that bad, you should throw in the towel and join me in a life of crime. What's the world coming to when even a highly qualified shrink can't find a decent paying gig?"

"It's becoming a world that needs more highly qualified shrinks, because it's going crazy," replied Harleen.

"I agree," said Jack, moving his knight into position. "And that's the second question of mine you've answered. Check," he added with a grin.

Harleen glared at him. "And have those questions helped you discover anything about me?" she asked, moving her king out of danger.

"Absolutely," he said, nodding. "I've learned how your mind works, and your outlook on life. You're not an optimist – you think the world's going to hell in a hand-basket. If you were a realist, like me, you'd stop fighting that and just join in."

"You actually think you're a realist?" demanded Harleen. "A man who denies the very existence of his own reality?"

"I don't deny that at all – if the world's a madhouse, the sanest people in it are mad," replied Jack. "What you call denying reality, I call facing the truth – that life is meaningless, that nothing matters, not laws or values or morals or anything else you hold so dear. Now there's two ways to respond to that. One, you become all brooding and depressed because nothing matters. Or two, you become completely free and happy, because nothing matters. You can do whatever you want, anything that you enjoy, with no regard for anything else like laws or rules or feelings."

"And when laws come to get you and lock you up in a mental asylum?" asked Harleen. "You must not be so happy about that. See, that's reality – it's not something you can just disregard without expecting to be punished."

"Well, who says I don't enjoy being punished?" asked Jack with a grin. "Depends on who's giving it, of course. But I definitely enjoy being punished by you."

"Good," retorted Harleen, moving her knight again. "Because that's checkmate."

Jack stared from her to the board, clearly stunned. "I'd say you'd just got spanked, wouldn't you?" asked Harleen, leaning back and smiling. "That's what happens when you don't focus on the game at hand because you're trying to play other ones. And now you see that those of us who play by the rules of the game are the ones who win it, don't you?"

Jack's shocked face twisted back into his usual, unconcerned smile. "Nice work," he said, reaching out a hand to tip his king over onto the board, conceding defeat. Then he suddenly seized the piece and flung it angrily into the corner of the room.

"Oh, very mature," said Harleen, sighing and standing up as she heard glass shatter. "I never pegged you for a sore loser, Mr. Napier. You think you'd be used to losing by now. Oh good, you broke the security camera lens," she muttered, as she headed over to pick up the piece. "That's just what we need, to pay a lotta money to have it replaced. Don't you know we're broke? Dr. Leland's going to want to take it out of my salary, which is limited enough as it is, and wait until I tell her that it only broke because somebody's a big baby who can't take being beaten at chess."

"Hey, I'm a lunatic," said Jack, shrugging. "Gotta be irrational sometimes – she should be used to patients lashing out with violence and stuff getting broken."

"Somehow I don't think she'll be as ready to forgive irrational violence in you," retorted Harleen.

"Why not? You said yourself you think I'm denying reality – that makes me just as crazy as anyone else," he retorted. "And I can't even win a simple game of chess, so my mind must be going locked up in here."

"Oh yeah, it's your fault you can't win, not mine for being better than you," said Harleen. "But of course you have a problem admitting anyone's better than you – I diagnosed egomania when I first met you."

"Why? Because I winked at a pretty girl?" he asked.

"Because you automatically disregarded my authority as a doctor and treated me like some lesser woman who only exists for you to flirt with," retorted Harleen.

"Boy, you sure know how to read stuff into a wink," he retorted. "Yeah, I thought you were cute – take it as a compliment. A guy can think a gal is pretty and respect her, you know. The two things ain't mutually exclusive – in fact, if you love someone, you love everything about them including their body and mind."

"The guy with no empathy is telling me about love," said Harleen, rolling her eyes. "That's rich. Anyway, you don't love me."

"I thought I was supposed to be the one talking about my feelings," replied Jack. "You're not meant to deny them, are you? You're meant to accept them, and help me find productive outlets for them."

"Which I will try to, but I need you to be truthful about your feelings with me," said Harleen. "And saying you love me is a lie, and I need you to admit that."

"I didn't say I loved you," he replied.

"You implied it," she retorted. "And I need you to say that you don't love me."

"I won't say that," he retorted.

"You need to be honest with me…" she began.

"I am," he interrupted. "And I won't say that."

Harleen stared at him, surprised to see what she thought was sincerity on his face for once. She felt herself flushing again as her heart began to beat faster, and she was struggling to think of a reply when the door opened.

"Harleen, the camera went dead," said Dr. Leland, rushing into the room. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…fine, Joan," stammered Harleen. She held up the chess piece. "I made the mistake of not letting my patient win at chess, and he threw his king at the camera and broke it."

Dr. Leland drew in a deep breath. "Great," she said, forcing a smile. "That's gonna cost a bundle. Thank you, Mr. Napier," she said, turning to him.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Leland, it's completely my fault for losing my temper," he said. "If I had any money, I'd be happy to pay for a new one…"

"And then I have to get the tech guys in to install it, and they're always booked for weeks," muttered Dr. Leland, ignoring him. "Guards, take him back to his cell, please," she said, calling them into the room. "I'm not comfortable with these sessions continuing with a broken camera – legally we have to monitor everything so we don't get sued."

"We could continue in another room…" began Harleen.

"They're all in use," replied Dr. Leland. "I guess we can try and share them in the future, but that's going to make things like patient confidentiality difficult…"

"I'd be happy to waive my right to be recorded and just continue sessions with Dr. Quinzel in here," spoke up Jack.

Dr. Leland turned to him. "We record these for your protection, Mr. Napier," she said. "So the doctors can't take advantage of you…"

"Oh, I doubt Dr. Quinzel's the type to do that," chuckled Jack. "Anyway, I'm happy to sign something to say I won't sue, if that's what you're worried about."

"Ideally the recordings protect both the patient and the doctor," said Dr. Leland. "If the doctor finds themselves in a dangerous situation involving a violent and unstable lunatic, for instance, help can be there immediately."

"Mr. Napier's not a violent and unstable lunatic – he's just a sore loser," retorted Harleen. "I feel safe enough without the camera. There's always the alarm right by my chair, after all. And I'm not afraid of him."

Dr. Leland nodded slowly. "Well, let's end the session today and let me think it over. I don't like it, but there's a lot of things I don't like about our current situation here at Arkham. Sometimes we just have to live with them," she sighed, beckoning the guard over. He hauled Jack to his feet and dragged him from the room, with Harleen staring after him.

He was back to his usual smug and knowing smile, but she couldn't forget the look she had seen earlier, a look she had never seen on his face before, one of complete sincerity. It could be another game of his, of course, but judging from his chess skills today, she could beat him at his games. And she didn't think he was playing this time.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you ready to admit that you lied?" asked Harleen at their next session in the same room.

"About what?" Jack asked.

"About loving me," retorted Harleen.

Jack chuckled. "Do you always get this annoyed when you think guys love you?" he asked.

"Just admit that you don't," snapped Harleen.

"Why is it so important for you to hear that?" he asked.

"Because the very idea that you want me to think that you do is incredibly insulting to me," she snapped.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you must think I'm a total idiot to believe it!" snapped Harleen. "I don't think you're capable of actually loving anyone, first of all, and second of all, your whole game from the beginning has been to get a shrink on your side to help you get outta here! And isn't this a handy way to do that, by getting her to think you actually care about her so she'll be willing to help you! You actually think I'm stupid enough to believe that you don't have ulterior motives in this?!"

"I don't think you're stupid," said Jack. "So I wouldn't be playing a game that I'd expect a stupid person to fall for, because it would be pointless with you."

Harleen glared at him. "Well, I _am_ stupid," she muttered. "I'm stupid for letting your stupid game get to me. I should be laughing at you – this joke is more pathetic than anything else. The very idea that someone like you could love me is completely ridiculous."

"How's that?" he asked. "I admit it's never happened before, but I've never met a gal like you before."

"I told you, I don't fall for that 'you're the only one who can save me' trick," snapped Harleen.

"I don't think you can save me," replied Jack. "And you're right, maybe I don't know much about love, but I don't think saving people is what love's about. It's about accepting people, just as they are, with all their scars and flaws. And I've got about a million of those!" he chuckled.

"Exactly," said Harleen, nodding. "Any woman who would love you would have to be crazy, which I am most definitely not. I'm a sane, sensible human being, and a psychiatrist."

"Yes, you know better than to love someone like me," said Jack, nodding. "But we actually weren't talking about you loving me – we were talking about me loving you. I don't see why that would be so crazy. You're a bright, attractive, caring young woman who I have a lotta fun with. It's only natural that I'd develop feelings for you."

"You don't have feelings!" snapped Harleen. "You can't, to do the things you do!"

"Is that really what you think of me?" he asked. "Some monster who doesn't feel anything, who goes through life numb to emotions of any kind? I thought you were a talented shrink, Doc – you should know how rare true psychos like that are. And I like to think I'm a little more complex than that."

"Well, you're not," she snapped.

"Am I not?" he asked. "Or does that thought just comfort you because you're too scared to consider the possibility that I might actually love you?"

"Why would I be scared of that?" she demanded.

"Because if you ever wanted to return the feeling, you could get in a helluva lotta trouble," he replied. "And you're afraid of that. You're afraid that you might start to develop feelings that you can't control, feelings that could sabotage your career more than you already have. I think you've always been afraid of doing anything wrong, which is why you're so superior and judgmental today. You resent people who had the courage to do what you never could, and did the wrong thing for once."

"You know nothing about me!" shrieked Harleen. "I know what it's like to live with a criminal record, but unlike you, I'm ashamed of it! I know I did a bad thing, and I deserve to be punished for it! I deserve to be shunned and excluded, because that's what all criminals deserve!"

Tears had risen to her eyes, and she felt the hot anger gradually cool to the familiar feelings of shame and regret. She wiped her eyes hastily, not wanting to cry in front of Jack.

To her surprise, he handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. "Thank you," she muttered, taking it and wiping her eyes.

"Look, I'm…sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you…"

"You didn't," she muttered, handing the handkerchief back to him. "You don't have that power over me. I upset myself. Because I disappointed myself, and I have to live with that disappointment forever."

"Can I ask…what you did?" he asked, slowly.

"I got drunk at a party in college and shoplifted stuff from the mall," she whispered.

He suddenly burst out laughing. "It's not funny!" she snapped.

"Yeah, it is!" he chuckled. "Jesus, you're self-flagellating over that? Some dumb college prank?"

"It wasn't a dumb college prank!" she roared. "And even if it was, it got me a criminal record, so I don't see anything funny about it!"

"You don't?" he repeated. "You sure?"

She shook her head. "Well, here's something funny," he said. "In the eyes of society, a hardened killer like me and a dumb college kid like you are equal. We're both given the label of criminal. We're both shunned and despised, even though what we've done is in no way equal. But we're both stuck with that criminal label forever. It's something that will never be wiped away, no matter how guilty we feel and how remorseful we are. So I don't waste my time feeling guilty about the stuff I've done. That doesn't do any good, and it doesn't make me happy. And I like being a happy guy."

Harleen felt him take her hand, and she turned to look at him. "You listen to me," he murmured, his green eyes serious for once. "Don't let them make you feel guilty about it. Society, your peers, that little voice in your head, don't let them beat you down with that label. Because they'll never let you forget it, so the best thing to do is to embrace it. To live your life freely and openly, with no regrets, and no sense of shame. Even if that life is a criminal one. It's better than living in a cage of self-loathing that society made for you. We can't control other people, but we can control ourselves. And we can choose to be happy, no matter what they say."

Harleen gazed into his deep, green eyes, feeling electricity shooting through her body, and an irresistible impulse seized her. She suddenly shoved her mouth onto his, and her body exploded in sparks of pleasure, each stronger than the last as his mouth responded eagerly to hers.

He drew her shaking body closer as her hands came up to cup his face, never breaking the kiss, the intensity increasing on both sides. She felt his hand reach for the button on her blouse, and she drew away suddenly as the spell was broken. "N…no," she whispered. "We can't…"

"Why not?" he murmured. "Because it'd be wrong?"

"It…it _would_ be wrong," she stammered. "This is…this is all wrong…oh my God, how could I let this happen?" she demanded, standing up suddenly. "How could I be so dumb as to play right into your hands?! God, I'm lucky the camera is broken, or I'd be fired instantly! And I'd deserve to be too, for being so stupid! Just like when I got drunk, I let my guard down for one instant, and I just let these stupid impulses seize me, and then I suffer horrible consequences, like the idiot I am!"

"I've never been called a horrible consequence before, and I can't say I like it," commented Jack. "I ain't that bad a kisser, am I?"

"Just…please…shut up!" stammered Harleen, sitting back down and burying her face in her hands. "Stupid, Harley, stupid, stupid, stupid!" she muttered, slamming her palm into her face over and over again.

"You call yourself Harley?" he asked.

"Yeah, when I do something stupid, I do," said Harleen. "I like to think of Harley as the careless, reckless, idiotic part of myself. She's the one I blame for these stupid impulses. It's not a split personality or anything – it's just a way of dealing with acting like an idiot without completely hating myself. I can always hate Harley who made me do it. It's not mature, and it's not a healthy coping strategy, but it's the only one I've got."

"I think I'd like to meet this Harley," he chuckled, grinning. "She sounds like a fun gal."

"She's a clown," snapped Harleen, glaring at him. "Harley _Quin_ zel, get it? A stupid, idiotic, impulsive clown."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "No, thank you," she whispered, as he offered her his handkerchief again.

"Well, I've always liked clowns," said Jack. "And I guess…you like me a little too, huh?"

"No, I don't like you!" snapped Harleen. "You're a criminal, and my patient! I'd be a complete idiot to like you, firstly because you're an awful human being, and secondly because we could never actually be together!"

"Well, I did break the camera," said Jack. "So we could theoretically be together right now."

Harleen glared at him. "What kind of person do you think I am?" she demanded. "You think I want to make this whole situation worse by actually sleeping with you, my patient and a criminal?"

"Well, you're a criminal too," he replied. "So some would say we deserve each other. And I think there's something bad at the heart of you, kid. Something wicked and naughty that you've tried to repress all your life, something that festers under the lie of telling yourself you're a good person. But you ain't, not deep down inside. You're a bad, bad girl, I could see that from the moment I met you. And I wanna see more."

"If you think I'm going to sacrifice everything I've worked for, my job and my credentials, for a brief liaison with you, a criminal, then you are sorely mistaken," she retorted.

He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think you'll sacrifice 'em for me. You'll sacrifice 'em for yourself, for your own sake, because you're sick of being unhappy. You're sick of the judgments and the guilt and the fear, and of living your life in a prison. One day soon, you're gonna break out of it, and I'll be waiting. Not as your reason for doing it, but as your reward. You'll get to be with someone who understands you at last, and I do, Harley," he said, touching her face gently. "I tried to be good once too, a long time ago, so long ago that I barely remember it. But I do remember it – I remember what it felt like to be ashamed and fearful and small. To wake up every day hating yourself and your life, wondering why the world is incapable of making you happy. But the world can't do that – the world doesn't give you anything. You have to take your own happiness outta it. And I think we can, together."

"I think…this is another one of your charming acts, Mr. Napier," she whispered.

"Do you?" he asked. He kissed her tenderly, and she couldn't doubt the sincerity behind it. "Like you said, I'm not that charming," he added, drawing away with a grin. "Not charming enough to fake that, anyway."

"I'm…not helping you escape from here, whatever happens," she whispered. "I'm not falling for that game."

"Why would I wanna escape?" he murmured. "You're in here, so I wanna stay here forever. I love you."

She gazed into his green eyes. "Say it again," she whispered.

"I love you," he murmured. "I love you," he repeated, enveloping her mouth again. "You believe me now, don't you?" he whispered, drawing away at last.

"Uh huh," she murmured, tears in her eyes again. "Maybe I'm an idiot, but I do."

"You're not an idiot," he whispered. "You're perfect, Harley Quinn. Utterly perfect."

She let out a sob of relief and melted into his arms. He pulled her off the chair and she climbed into his lap, their mouths locked together. "We don't have to rush into this," murmured Jack. "If you're not ready…"

"Well, I can feel you're ready," she murmured, grinning. "And we might as well take advantage of the opportunity you gave us by breaking that camera. I think you deserve to be punished for that, Mr. Napier."

"I think you can call me Jack now," he murmured. "Can't you, Harley Quinn?"

"Maybe not," she said. "Jack Napier is my patient, and a criminal, and I'd be crazy to want to be with him. And I'm not crazy. Not yet, anyway," she added with a smile. She kissed him. "When you were a kid, and you wanted to be a clown, what did you want to call yourself?" she asked.

He chuckled. "It's silly. But I was gonna be the Joker."

"Joker," she repeated, grinning. "I like it. I like it a lot," she added, bringing her mouth back down to his as he pressed her down on the therapy couch.

If this was a game, she was glad to lose it. But she was past caring if it was - it felt real, but more importantly, for the first time in recent memory, Harleen Quinzel felt happy again.


	9. Chapter 9

"You ok?" asked Jack, as Harleen stood up and gathered her clothes from the floor. "Harley?" he asked, sitting up on the therapy couch. "You ok?" he repeated.

"I'm fine," she murmured, dressing slowly. "Better than fine, actually," she added, turning to smile at him.

"Good," he said, smiling back. "You just went kinda quiet, is all. I thought you might be regretting what we did."

"I'm not," she said, buttoning up her top. "I should be, but I'm not. I guess that makes me a bad person, but I don't feel guilty about what happened. Even though I technically took advantage of a patient…"

"Oh, is that what you did?" he chuckled. "Yeah, clearly I wasn't into it at all."

"You know what I mean," she retorted. "I'm meant to be a professional, and you're meant to be under my care."

"Well, I've got no complaints about my care," he chuckled. "I'd kill for a smoke, though."

"I'm sorry I don't have one," she said, putting her blonde hair back up in its usual bun.

"Of course you don't," he said, smiling at her. "You're a good girl who would never do a naughty thing like smoke."

"Mmm, I just did you, and you're pretty naughty," she retorted, planting a kiss on his lips. She tried to draw away, but he captured her lips with his own again.

"I've never felt this way before," he murmured in between kisses.

"It's called an afterglow, and it'll go away in a little while," retorted Harleen, grinning.

"Funny," he said. "But I'm serious. You know I'm crazy about you, right? Your looks, your smarts, your smile, your sense of humor, everything. I never thought…I'd ever feel this way about anyone."

He chuckled suddenly. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"Just…the guys say nothing I plan ever works out the way I say it will, and they're right again," he said, nodding. "My plan was to charm a shrink to help us bust outta here, and instead I end up falling in love with one so I don't ever wanna leave. That's quite the joke, when you think about it."

"Jack, we can't keep doing this," she said, the sensible part of her brain suddenly reasserting itself as she pushed herself away from him. "I mean, it was fun, and I loved it, but…I'm your doctor, and you're my patient. If we continue on like this, we could be caught, and I could lose my license. Becoming a shrink has meant everything to me, and I can't throw it all away now."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because…then I'd be a failure…" she began.

"Like me," finished Jack.

"No, that's not what I meant," she said, hastily. "I just…don't know what else I'd do with my life. I'm having a hard enough time as it is finding a real job with shoplifting on my record – imagine how much harder it would be with something like gross misconduct with a patient. I'd never be able to work again…"

"And that thought is so much worse than your situation now, is it?" asked Jack. "Scraping out a living, wasting your talents on a minimum wage internship when you should be running this place?"

"I have to be smart…" she began.

"You are smart," he interrupted. "And so am I. But I'm happy, and you're not. Well, I hope you were a little while ago," he added with a grin. "But I can see you crawling back into your shell now, I can see your happiness dying as you try and cram yourself back into this role that people consider to be sane and sensible. It's not going to work, Harley. Sooner or later, you'll snap, because you're too smart to be wasting your life like this when you know you deserve better."

"And what would better be, with a criminal record?" she demanded.

"Well…you could come with me," he said, slowly. "You could be a criminal, with me…"

"I see," interrupted Harleen. "I could bust you outta here and we could be together forever, is that what you're saying? Because honestly, that sounds a lot like that little game you were playing about charming a shrink to help get you outta here."

"No, Harley, I'm not playing a game," he said, seizing her shoulders. "I just want you to stay with me. And if you're not happy here, we'll go somewhere else together, just the two of us. But I just want you to be happy – that's all I want anymore. I…never saw you smile, really smile, until just now," he said, touching her cheek. "And I wanna see that every day. I want that to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing I see when I go to bed every night. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You are a very charming man, Jack Napier," she murmured, kissing him. "And I like you very much. But please understand that I can't sacrifice everything for you. That's not what a smart, strong, sensible, sane woman would do."

"So go crazy for me," he said, smiling at her. "That's what I've done for you."

"I can't," she said. "I can't just let go of my sanity like that, of everything I've worked so long and hard for. I can't let go of this job, however much I'd like to, because then…I'd have nothing left."

Jack nodded slowly. "I didn't realize I was nothing," he muttered.

"Jack, I didn't mean that," she said. "I just meant I'd be left with nothing to recommend me but a criminal record, and what sort of future can I expect with that? My life would be over."

"What sort of future do you expect now?" he asked. "Work as an intern for years until someone finally gives you a real job, but by that time you're in so much debt that it'll take you the rest of your life to pay it off? Wasting every day trying to help people who don't wanna help themselves because that's the only way you can scrape out a living? I think you're bound to be disappointed with a future like that."

"While my future with you, a criminal, would be all sunshine and roses, would it?" demanded Harleen. "Hiding from the cops, stealing to survive, hurting other people to sublimate our own hated of ourselves? It doesn't sound like freedom to me, or a future that would make me very happy."

He said nothing, but stood up slowly to get dressed. "Well, I'm…sorry this happened," he said, pulling on his clothes. "It won't happen again, if that's what you want."

"I didn't say that," she said. "And I didn't mean to hurt your feelings – I told you, I like you. And I liked…it. We just have to be very careful that we're not caught doing it."

"And that's all you want, is it?" he asked, rounding on her. "Forbidden, meaningless sex that we have to hide from everyone? You're the one using a dangerous thrill as a substitute for your own real emotional connection now."

"I can't have a real emotional connection with a patient," she snapped. "And we don't have to keep doing this if you didn't enjoy it, or if you're offended that I'm just using you for sex. But we can't have a deeper relationship than that, and I don't think you want that anyway. Do you?"

He said nothing. "You said you think I'm a bad girl," she murmured. "Well, this is something bad girls do, isn't it? It's so wrong and naughty that it has to be hidden from everyone, but it's just too irresistible to stop."

"I thought you said I wasn't that irresistible," he murmured.

"I'm not always right, you know," she replied. "Because if you were, and if I were completely sensible, I'd say that this was a mistake and that it has to stop right now. I'd get you transferred to another doctor so I'm not presented with the temptation again. But Harley really, really wants this to happen again. Doesn't Joker?" she asked, kissing him.

"Mmm, but don't get him all fired up when our time's almost over," said Jack, glancing at the clock. "Unless you're in the mood for a quickie."

"No, I told you, we have to be careful," she said, pulling away from him. "And that means not cutting things close like that. We have to have time to recover so we don't look flushed or like we've hurried to get dressed," she said, adjusting his collar. "We can't give anyone cause to suspect a thing."

She smoothed her hair back. "Do I look ok?" she asked.

"You look beautiful, Harley," he said.

"Dr. Quinzel," she corrected. "Nobody here calls me Harley, remember?"

"I remember," he said, nodding. "I'm not gonna blow this, Dr. Quinzel. Our secret's safe with me."

"Good," she said, smiling at him. "Then our secret should be safe."

She kissed him again. "I'll get the guard," she said, heading over to the door. "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Napier," she said, as the guard entered.

"You too, Dr. Quinzel," he said, gazing at her as he was dragged off. Harleen shut the door and headed back over to the therapy couch. She took a seat and shut her eyes, remembering her time with Jack. Remembering how he had felt, the electric thrill as their bodies connected and joined, his hands and mouth and tongue doing magical things to her body, things she had never experienced before from anyone...

A knock on the door interrupted her fantasies. "Come in," she said, standing up and hoping she wasn't blushing too much.

"How did things go today without the camera?" asked Dr. Leland, entering the room.

"Oh…they went fine," said Harleen, casually.

"I thought he might have tried to see how much he could get away with since he wasn't being recorded," said Dr. Leland. "He wasn't disrespectful to you?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," said Harleen, her brain recalling images of how respectful Jack had been, ensuring that she was satisfied multiple times before he finally was…she tried to repress these because she knew she'd be blushing involuntarily remembering them. "He's…not so difficult to handle," she finished.

"Well, I'm glad," said Dr. Leland, smiling. "I've gotta admit, you do seem to have a knack for difficult patients, Harleen. I should send Bronski over to you too and give Dr. Bartholomew that sabbatical he's been talking about."

"If you want," said Harleen, nodding.

"I think I do," said Dr. Leland. "Especially since I've just been authorized to raise your salary, and offer you a job as a permanent psychiatrist here. If you want it, of course."

Harleen stared at her, not believing her ears. "Y…yes, of course I want it," she stammered. "Thank you so much, Joan!" she exclaimed, hugging her. "How did you manage that?"

"Well, I proposed Dr. Bartholomew's sabbatical as a way of cutting the budget, and replacing him with you full-time," said Dr. Leland. "When you pitch these things as making good financial sense, the suits buy it."

"Thank you so much!" repeated Harleen. "Gosh, this has really been the best day of my life! This job, and…"

She trailed off, realizing that she had been about to blurt out about her and Jack.

"And?" prompted Dr. Leland.

"And…getting another patient in Mr. Bronski, of course," finished Harleen. "I'm betting he'll be a real challenge."

"Yeah, good luck," agreed Dr. Leland, heading for the door. "Oh, and one more thing – the DA's office wants to know if you're recommending Miss Kyle to be released from her house arrest. Do you believe she's cured of her kleptomania?"

"I do," said Harleen, nodding. "She seems sincere in her reformation to me."

"I'll pass that along," said Dr. Leland. "Congratulations again, Harleen. I hope you'll celebrate tonight with someone special."

"Not tonight…but maybe tomorrow," murmured Harleen with a grin as the door shut.


	10. Chapter 10

"I can't believe you actually got me chained up," muttered Buzz Bronski, glaring at Harleen from the therapy couch at their first session. "Do you do this with Jack?"

"Not yet," retorted Harleen, trying to suppress a smile at the idea. "But he's behaved himself so far. You, on the other hand, I don't trust to behave himself around me, and the camera's busted in this room. So better safe than sorry."

"I don't believe this," muttered Buzz. "You make sweet talk with a gal, and she locks you up in chains like you committed some kinda crime. What's this world coming to, I'd like to know?"

"Well, need I remind you that you actually have committed crimes, Mr. Bronski?" asked Harleen. "Let's take a look at your rap sheet, and then you can talk to me about trusting you."

"Jack's got the same rap sheet," retorted Buzz. "But you said you ain't as cagey around him. Why is that?"

"I'll ask the questions here, Mr. Bronski," she replied. "And actually, you don't have the same rap sheet," she said, taking out his file. "You've got a rape accusation on here from a stripper…"

"Hey, she was asking for it!" snapped Buzz. "Teasing me and playing with me and then suddenly saying no! You can't treat a guy like that and expect him not to take what you offered him whether you want it or not!"

"Yes, I wonder why I don't trust you without being chained up," sighed Harleen, sarcastically.

"Look, the only reason Jack doesn't have any rape charges is that he's good at convincing gals that they actually do wanna do it," said Buzz. "He's more charming and persuasive than me, sure, but ultimately he also makes women do stuff that they don't actually want to do."

"The thing that matters is consent, Mr. Bronski," retorted Harleen.

"So he tricks them into consenting – that's still wrong," replied Buzz. "He's more underhanded in his method, and he don't get punished for it. Doesn't seem fair to me. No woman in her right mind would want anything to do with the kinda guy he is, and tricking them into wanting it is worse than forcing them, if you ask me."

"Nobody did ask you," retorted Harleen. She paused. "You've…seen Mr. Napier talk a lot of women into consenting, have you?"

"Yeah, he calls it charm," said Buzz, nodding. "I'm objectively the more attractive guy, but the dames all wanna go home with him. That don't make sense, and it's not fair. Which is why I'm telling you he's also doing something wrong by tricking women into consenting. Lots of women, and a new one every week, that's Jack's method."

"Do you know what sorts of things he says to these women?" asked Harleen, casually.

"I don't eavesdrop on the guy when I'm trying to work on a dame myself," retorted Buzz. "But he tells 'em the usual crap a guy says when he's trying to talk women into sex – I've never met anyone like you, I've never felt like this before, I'm crazy about you, I love you. You know, all that crap that dames fall for."

"He's…said that to a lot of women, has he?" asked Harleen, slowly.

"Oh no, he hasn't tried it on you, has he?" asked Buzz, staring at her. "At least you ain't dumb enough to fall for it, though – you're a smart doctor, not some dumb blonde stripper who would buy that crap from him. I've known Jack a lotta years, Doc, and trust me when I tell you that he doesn't feel real, genuine emotions for anyone. Everything's a game to him, everything. He's a pretty good actor, I'll admit that, but what he actually is is an unfeeling psychopath who says whatever he needs to get what he wants. But I don't need to tell you that – you've probably got him all figured out, huh?"

"Yes, I think so," murmured Harleen, feeling her heart sink a little in disappointment. "But we're not here to talk about Jack, Mr. Bronski – we're here to talk about you."

"Aw, what about me?" demanded Buzz. "Look, there's no traumatic incident from my childhood that made me into a criminal. I like money, and this is the easiest way to make lots of it. I ain't a headcase, and I don't need you poking around in my business trying to analyze me."

"Why are you so afraid of that?" asked Harleen. "Are you afraid I'll discover something you don't like about yourself?"

"There's nothing you can tell me about myself, lady," he snapped. "I know who I am, and I know why I do the things I do. I don't want you making up a buncha crap about how I'm repressed or nothing, which is what shrinks always do. They think they know you better than you know yourself."

"I think they're just trying to help you, Mr. Bronski," she said. "And sometimes if people can't help themselves, they need outside help to accomplish that. Are you happy with your life?"

"I was until I got banged up in here," he retorted. "Thanks to Jack and his stupid scheme."

"Why do you follow Jack?" she asked. "You don't think you're stupid like Chuckie does, do you?"

"Because Jack's schemes have never failed this badly before," retorted Buzz. "Sure, they never work out the way he says they will, but we usually end up with some loot. But this time he's fixed us all good, and even though he promised us a way outta here, his stupid plan to charm a shrink ain't working either. You're not dumb enough to buy his act anyway."

"No, I'm not," agreed Harleen.

"So tell me what the point of all this is," said Buzz. "If you somehow magically find the root of all my problems and cure me, I'll still be sent to Blackgate to pay for my crimes. And that's hell, but this is limbo, which is even worse because the only thing I got to look forward to is going to hell. So you tell me what I've got to be so happy about."

"Well, nothing that I can see," agreed Harleen. "The only thing you could look forward to is maybe making some psychological progress, to try and resolve some mental issues you have that might make you into a better person. You seem to have problems with women, for instance – did you have a good relationship with your mother?"

"No, I'm not playing this game," said Buzz, folding his chained arms across his chest as best he could. "I ain't answering any questions you ask me about my life or my business. That's private."

"So you have issues about opening up emotionally and making yourself vulnerable," said Harleen, writing something down. "So does Jack. I guess that's hardly unusual in a criminal – you become so angry about not being able to deal with your emotions that you feel the need to take it out on innocent people."

"Or maybe the innocent people are asking for it," said Buzz, nodding.

"Yeah, people are always asking to be killed going about their lives and minding their own business," said Harleen, rolling her eyes. "I don't know how you restrain yourself every day."

"You don't know anything about me, sweetheart," he snapped.

"Well, why don't you tell me about yourself?" she asked. "I might be able to help you."

"Have you helped Jack?" he demanded.

"Why don't you ask him?" she retorted.

"Oh, c'mon, you can't reform a guy like that!" he snapped. "I don't know what effect you think you've had on him, but he's playing you for a fool! Everything he's said to you has been a lie, because he doesn't take anything seriously! He's a complete joker!"

"Maybe you're right," murmured Harleen. "But my job is to try, otherwise we're just going to sit here in silence for an hour."

"Suits me," retorted Buzz.

"You won't get bored?" asked Harleen.

"I'm always bored in here – won't be anything new," he retorted.

Harleen thought for a moment. "I'll get you something to read," she said, reaching into her briefcase and pulling out today's newspaper. "You seem to like to give your opinion on things that don't relate to you – tell me if there's anything in there you'd like to talk about."

Buzz shrugged. "Better than being bored, I guess," he muttered, taking it from her and glancing at the headline. "Oh great, this Batman guy's back," he growled. "Maybe I'm better off locked up in here after all. But if you're looking for a headcase, Doc, there's your guy."

"Yes, he's clearly a disturbed individual," agreed Harleen. "And I don't support vigilante justice."

"We agree on that then," muttered Buzz. "People should mind their own business and leave law enforcement to the cops. If you ask me, he's just as bad as any criminal, taking the law into his own hands like that."

"I agree," said Harleen, nodding. "What do you think makes a guy do something like that?"

"Simple – he's nuts," retorted Buzz.

"And that explains him away, does it?" asked Harleen.

"It's a good enough explanation for me," replied Buzz, shrugging. "But I ain't a complex guy. People are good or bad, sane or insane. And that guy's insane."

"But you don't have any theories on what drives him to do something like that?" pressed Harleen.

Buzz shrugged. "I guess he got hurt by criminals once. Something bad happened to him, or somebody close to him, so he wants revenge. But he doesn't want anyone to know who he is, so he dresses up in a costume and beats up criminals."

"Those are my conclusions as well," said Harleen, nodding. "You should be a shrink, Mr. Bronski."

"I guess you could say I can figure people pretty well," agreed Buzz.

"How about I give you some sample cases, and you tell me what you think the problem with them is?" said Harleen, standing up and heading over to her files. "Obviously I'm gonna change the names, but I'd like to see what conclusions you come to. I'll give you a list to study for our next session, how about that?"

Buzz glared at her. "Really? You're giving me homework? I dropped outta school for just that reason."

"I think you might have fun with this," said Harleen, shuffling through her files. "Let me just type up a list – you sit and read that paper while you wait."

Harleen had finished compiling the list of cases just in time for the session to be over. She handed the list to Buzz as the guard came to collect him, saying, "Now you come see me if you have any questions, Mr. Bronski, and I'd be happy to answer them anytime."

"I've got Napier here – do you want me to send him in or are you gonna take a break?" asked the guard.

"You can send him in," said Harleen, holding open the door as the guard brought in Jack. "He's my last session of the day, and I might as well get it over with."

The door shut, and Jack beamed at her. "I hear congratulations are in order. My sexy shrink is an intern no more."

"Are you happy about that?" asked Harleen.

"Of course I am," he said, puzzled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, your theory about me wasting years of my life interning was wrong," retorted Harleen. "My life is looking up in terms of my career, which makes me even less inclined to throw in the towel and join you in a life of crime. You must be a little disappointed."

"No, I'm happy that you're happy," he said.

"Are you?" she asked. "Because you love me?"

"That's right," he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her, but she turned away from him suddenly. He stared at her in confusion. "Why are you being so cold and distant all of a sudden?" he asked. "Have I done something wrong?"

"I've been talking to Buzz," she said. "He said you say 'I love you' to lots of women, which is how you seduce them."

"Well, sometimes," agreed Jack, nodding. "But it's different with you…"

"Because I'm special, and you've never felt anything like this before," finished Harleen. "Buzz told me about those lines too."

"You think I'm lying to you?" asked Jack.

"I think you're the Joker," she said. "And you've been playing a game with me from the start."

He looked surprised and hurt for an instant, but that faded away into his usual, charming smile. "Well, why would you care if I have?" he asked. "You said this is all just casual, right? And you certainly don't love me, so why would you care if I lied when I said I loved you? Aren't we just using each other? It's probably better that there's no real emotion on either side."

"Probably," agreed Harleen. "But I just wanted to clarify that before we go any further. Buzz agreed with my conclusions, that a guy like you can't love because you're incapable of feeling anything for anyone."

"Well, Buzz would know," retorted Jack, his smile looking a little forced. "Maybe you should start doing him if you two get along so well."

She sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you," she said. "I just want us to be honest with each other. I'm already sleeping with you, so you don't need to lie to me by saying you love me if it's not true. Now is it true?"

He shrugged. "You're the shrink, and you know best. If you think I'm not capable of love, then you're probably right."

She nodded slowly. "Ok. Do you still wanna do this?"

"Do you?" he asked.

She grinned. "Well, I do want to celebrate getting the job. And Dr. Leland did recommend celebrating with someone special. And you certainly make a gal feel special. Why don't you congratulate me properly?" she murmured, pulling her hair out of its bun.

"Mmm, I can do that," he said, grinning back. "You are in for a treat, Harley Quinn. The Joker is gonna rev up his Harley."

"Oh my God, seriously?" demanded Harleen. "You think that's sexy talk?"

"I spent all last night thinking it up," said Jack, offended. "Don't tell me you don't like it. I think it works great - I know how to get your engine revving and your motor humming, don't I?"

She sighed, but smiled. "You better take me for a nice, long, hard ride then," she purred, settling herself on his lap.

"I will, but you gotta vroom for me," he said, grinning.

"No, you gotta shut up and drive," she whispered, pressing her mouth into his.

…

"Hey, guard, I need to see Dr. Quinzel," said Buzz, banging on the bars of his cell.

"Dr. Quinzel is with a patient," retorted the guard, not looking up from his magazine. "You saw me bring him in."

"Yeah, but she said I could come see her if I had any questions," said Buzz. "And I dunno what this word means – kleptomania. Do you?"

"What do I look like, a shrink?" demanded the guard, looking up.

"I know Chuckie doesn't know," said Buzz. "And I doubt Jack will when he gets back. Anyway, I can't finish my homework that she gave me if I don't find out what this word means, and you heard her say she'd be happy to answer any questions."

"I'm sure she doesn't want you interrupting her session," retorted the guard. "And I'm certainly not gonna do that."

"And I'm sure she wants me to do this homework," retorted Buzz. "And she did say to come see her anytime. Why don't you let me do that? You don't have to come – I'll take all the blame if she gets mad at being interrupted."

The guard sighed, heading over to the cell and unlocking it. "Don't try anything funny," he muttered. "You go to her office and back and that's all. If you're not back here in two minutes, I'm coming to find you with a taser."

"Fine," muttered Buzz, as the door unlocked. "Geez, people are so suspicious," he sighed, heading down the hall and around the corner to Dr. Quinzel's office. "What did I ever do to get people not to trust me?"

He raised his hand to knock on the door, when he suddenly heard familiar noises coming from behind it. Buzz stared at the door in astonishment, not believing what he was hearing, but then he leaned forward and put his ear to the door to confirm that the noises were exactly what he thought they were – a man and a woman, moaning in passion. "It's not possible," he whispered, but then a slow, horrible smile lit up his face. "Jack, you dog!" he chuckled. "You managed to play the shrink after all!"

He laughed, heading back to his cell with a grin on his face. "Oh yes, we're getting outta here," he murmured to himself. "It's just gonna take a little blackmail."


	11. Chapter 11

Jack was returned to his cell after his session was over that evening, and was immediately greeted by Buzz. "So how did things go with the shrink?" he asked, eagerly.

"Uh…fine," said Jack. "You know, the usual questions about my childhood, that kinda thing."

"Uh huh," said Buzz, with a knowing smile. "And that's all, huh?"

"Yeah, that's all," said Jack, studying him curiously. "You ok, Buzz?"

"Oh, I'm good," said Buzz. "How's the shrink?"

"She's good," replied Jack, confused.

"I bet she is!" chuckled Buzz. "Of course her tits could be bigger, but I bet she's got a tight little body that feels great once she takes it all in. And you're right, that ass ain't anything to complain about either."

"What are you talking about?" asked Jack, his heart speeding up in fear.

"I heard you guys today," Buzz replied with a grin. "Well, I heard her for sure – loud little thing, ain't she? Moaning and begging for it – you did good, Jack!" he exclaimed, slapping him on the back. "I don't know how you did it, but you did her! And now we can blackmail her! If her boss finds out about this, she's outta here, and she'll never be able to work again! So she's gotta help us escape now, or we'll tell her boss all about how you're screwing her…"

"Keep it down, Buzz!" hissed Jack, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"It's fine – Chuckie's asleep and the guard's gone to get coffee," said Buzz. "It's just the two of us, so first you give me all the details about what you and the shrink did together, and then we need to think up a plan about how we're gonna blackmail her."

"Buzz, nobody can know about this," said Jack. "I promised her…"

"You promised her?" repeated Buzz, incredulous. "Jack, don't you understand? She's our ticket outta here, just like you planned! Thank God at least one of your schemes managed to work, because I was just about to go stir crazy locked up in here! But now we can take the shrink with us, and we can have a little fun with her once we're outta here – I'm sure you don't mind sharing…"

"Buzz, look…I'm not gonna…things are different now," stammered Jack.

"How are they different?" asked Buzz, confused. "We're still locked up in here with no way out. And she's our way out, guaranteed. What's the problem exactly?"

"The problem is I'm not going to blackmail her," retorted Jack. "She's worked hard to get where she is, and she doesn't deserve to lose it all because of some stupid mistake."

"Jack, you ain't thinking straight," said Buzz. "We can get outta here. Who cares what happens to her?"

"I do," retorted Jack. "I love her."

Buzz stared at him. "You love her?" he repeated. "You're starting to believe your own game or what?"

"No, I'm telling you I love her!" snapped Jack. "And I ain't gonna hurt her by blackmailing her! She doesn't deserve that!"

"Oh my God, you really have gone crazy locked up in here," murmured Buzz. "Jack, she's hot, but there are other women out there, women who aren't our only hope for breaking outta the nuthouse. I'm sure you can sacrifice her for our freedom – there's nothing more important than that…"

"She is," interrupted Jack. "And I'm not sacrificing her. Not for anything."

Buzz's astonishment turned to anger. "Fine," he muttered. "Go soft, Jack, see if I care. But I'm getting outta here, and blackmailing that shrink is the way to do it. I'm gonna go see her the moment the guard gets back, and I'm telling her I'll tell Dr. Leland all about your little hanky-panky sessions unless she springs me from this dump."

"I ain't gonna let you do that, Buzz," murmured Jack.

"Yeah? How are you gonna stop me?" demanded Buzz. "You know what loving somebody means, right? It means you're soft and weak and a pushover. And I ain't scared of you. I'm getting outta here if it's the last thing I do."

Jack said nothing, watching Buzz as he headed over to the bars to await the guard's return. Buzz suddenly felt something thrown around his neck, which constricted tightly. He choked, struggling against the bedsheet that Jack held firmly around his throat as he pressed him against the bars, pulling the sheet tighter.

"You're right, Buzz," whispered Jack in his ear. "It is gonna be the last thing you do."

Buzz flailed wildly, trying to scream for help, but Jack's grip was firm, and his eyes were hard and cold as he choked the life out of his former colleague. Jack released the sheet at last, and Buzz's lifeless body fell to the ground. Jack calmly dragged the corpse over to the bottom bunk, covering it with the sheet to conceal it. "Don't wanna cause a fuss just yet, Buzz – I gotta think," he murmured. "And at least I got silence in which to do that. It'll be nice to have the cell to myself for a lotta reasons," he added, climbing onto the top bunk. "Course you had to go and make things complicated, Buzz. I knew I could always count on you to be a pain in the ass."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the packet of cigarettes and the lighter that Harley had given him after their last session. He lit one, exhaling a cloud of smoke slowly. "This changes everything," he muttered. "I mean, this ruins everything…they're gonna try me for murder. They're probably gonna give me the chair for it. Imagine somebody caring about your death, Buzz. But they will. The cops and the shrinks and Harley…"

He trailed off, puffing on his cigarette again. "Harley, how's she gonna react to this?" he murmured. "I mean, she didn't like you, Buzz – nobody did. But it'll shock her, what I've done. It'll hurt her to see that I'm capable of something like that, in cold blood. I mean, not that she didn't know I was a killer before, but it's different when the victim is someone you know – it makes the whole thing seem more shocking and real. And if she finds out I only did it to protect her, she'll feel guilty and responsible on top of everything else. I can't do that to her. So I gotta make up a reason why I killed you, Buzz. Hell, maybe I don't – maybe I'll just say I felt like it, that I thought it'd be fun. They'd all believe that, from a guy like me. Harley would believe that – she thinks I don't feel anything, that I'm just some heartless psychopath, and isn't that just what a heartless psychopath would do?"

He puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Maybe that's the best thing to do. To embrace that label, and just become the heartless psychopath that everybody thinks I am. When people think the worst of you anyway, why would you try to be anything better? And this way Harley will be safe. She'll probably be so horrified by my actions that she won't want anything to do with me ever again. Which is probably for the best, really. Even when you're trying to be careful, things get out, as you've demonstrated, Buzz. Probably better for her that she just cuts ties with me completely, before I can ruin her life. Shame, though. She's quite a gal. And I know you don't believe it, and neither does she, but I do love her like crazy."

He leaned back on the pillow, smoking thoughtfully. "They'll have to prosecute me for this, and the courts won't buy the insanity plea a second time. They'll fry me for this one. They'll ask Harley if she thinks I'm in my right mind, and she'll have to tell 'em the truth, because she's an honest, professional gal. I wouldn't want her to lie for me anyway."

He puffed on the cigarette slowly. "And she deserves better than a heartless psychopath," he muttered. "She deserves some guy who doesn't have to kill for her. Some nice, normal guy that she can have a nice, normal life with, just like she wants. She'll settle down with him, have a couple kids, and a rewarding career, and maybe one day she'll think back on that time she had an affair with her psychopath patient, and she'll wonder just what the hell she was thinking. She'll wonder how she could ever have been so crazy."

He stubbed the cigarette out, shutting his eyes and waiting for the body to be discovered. "And she'll be so relieved that she stopped before the madness could consume her life and destroy it," he murmured. "The way it's destroyed mine."


	12. Chapter 12

Harleen arrived at Arkham the next morning to find the whole place in chaos. "What's happened?" she asked a guard, who was racing his way down the cell block.

"Bronski's dead," retorted the guard.

"Dead?" repeated Harleen, stunned. "How? When?"

"Sometime last night probably, but the guard didn't notice until this morning when he tried to wake him up for breakfast," replied the guard. "He thought he was just sleeping."

"So he died in his sleep?" asked Harleen. "Some kinda heart failure?"

"I don't think so," replied the guard. "It looked deliberate to me. But I gotta go get the medic to do the autopsy – excuse me, Dr. Quinzel," he said, racing off down the hall.

Harleen hurried to the cell, where Dr. Leland and several guards were gathered around Buzz's body, with Chuckie staring on, completely dumbstruck. Harleen froze when she saw the ugly mark around Buzz's neck, and his eyes and tongue bulging from his purple face – he had clearly been strangled. Her eyes drifted from the body up to Jack, who was lounging on the top bunk with his usual, unconcerned expression. He noticed her and winked, smiling casually as if finding a dead body in a cell was the most natural thing in the world.

"It doesn't make any sense for him to have killed himself," Dr. Leland was saying. "First of all, he didn't give any indication of wanting to commit suicide, and second of all, these bruises on his arms weren't self-inflicted. They were probably inflicted by struggling with someone against the bars," she said, glancing up at Jack. "And third of all, if he was going to try to hang himself, I would have hoped his cellmate would have talked him out of it, or at least informed the guards if he found him dead after the fact."

"None of my business, is it?" asked Jack. "He was a grown man who could make his own decisions, and if he wanted to kill himself, who am I to stand in his way? And maybe I knew this would be a huge hullabaloo, and I wanted a good night's sleep before facing it."

"Or maybe you killed him," retorted Dr. Leland. "Why, Jack? Why would you do a thing like that? Dr. Quinzel told me she thought you were making real progress in your therapy together, and I thought you and Mr. Bronski were friends. Why would you murder your friend?"

"Oh, you know," sighed Jack, shrugging. "Sometimes you get these irresistible urges and you just wanna kill something, and Buzz was right there. You take a look at his rap sheet – a good lawyer would say I did the world a favor," he chuckled.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?" asked Dr. Leland. "Not just for yourself, but for everyone in here. There's gonna be all kinds of questions about why we let you two share a cell if one of you was potentially unstable, I'm gonna have to testify that we didn't think you were, Dr. Quinzel's gonna have to testify, and you're probably going to be taken back to Blackgate at the end of it all to face a life sentence if you're lucky."

"You don't think killing my cellmate qualifies me as crazy enough to be stuck in here forever?" chuckled Jack.

"It won't be up to me – it'll be up to a court," replied Dr. Leland. "And Dr. Quinzel is going to have to be the one to give them her opinion on your sanity, being your doctor. I hope you're happy about putting her through the inevitable media circus. And I hope you're prepared, Harleen – this is going to be a nightmare."

Harleen nodded slowly, trying to process the situation. "Well…we'd better start our therapy first thing this morning, hadn't we, Mr. Napier?" she asked. "I think we both need it. Bring him please," she said, heading toward their usual therapy room.

"Nobody touch anything – just wait for the police to get here," Dr. Leland was saying as Harleen headed off. "This is a crime scene."

"You want him chained up today, right?" asked the guard, as they entered the room with Jack in tow.

"No, thank you," said Harleen. "Just leave us."

"If you insist," said the guard, shrugging as he shut the door. Harleen slowly removed her glasses, rubbing her eyes.

"Why?" she demanded, glaring up at him. "Why did you do it, Jack? I want the truth."

"I told you – I felt like killing someone," he replied.

"You expect me to believe that, do you?" demanded Harleen. "You're not that crazy, Jack. He must have said or done something to provoke you. What was it?"

Jack shrugged. "I dunno – I was just sick of his whining over still being stuck in here. I wanted some goddamn peace and quiet for once."

"Why are you lying to me?" she demanded. "You think I can't tell when you're being deceptive?"

"No, I don't think you can," he replied, coolly.

She glared at him. "And what do you expect me to say when this comes to trial?" she demanded. "You expect me to lie about your sanity so you can stay here?"

"I don't want you to do anything that would go against your ethics," he replied. "If you think I'm sane, you tell the court that. It doesn't matter what happens to me."

"Doesn't it?" she demanded. "You've suddenly become apathetic about your own survival, have you? That isn't like you, Jack. First you murder a man for no reason, and then you pretend like you don't care if you live or die…"

"I don't," he interrupted. "Not anymore."

She studied him. "Why are you acting like this?" she whispered. "What's changed since last night?"

"Everything," he replied. "Everything has changed."

Harleen sat down slowly, burying her face in her hands. "What do you expect me to do, Jack?" she whispered, feeling tears come to her eyes. "You expect me to tell everyone that you're sane, and sentence you to the chair? You think I could do that to you, after what we've shared?"

"I thought it was meaningless," he replied. "It should have been meaningless. You should be able to condemn me with a clear conscience, because that's the right thing to do. I don't want you to feel conflicted because of me. I want you to do the right thing."

"And let them kill you?" she whispered, gazing up at him with tears trickling down her face.

"That would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it?" he asked. "I've done bad things, a lotta bad things. This is just the latest in a series. I deserve to die, you know that. Objectively I'm a horrible person who's spent my life destroying other people's. If there was any sort of justice in the world, I would have died already. You're just gonna be giving me the sentence I deserve. It's right and it's just, and you shouldn't feel bad about it."

"But I do," she murmured. "I do. You can appeal to my rational side all you want, but…it doesn't matter. The thought of hurting you is more than I can bear."

"So…you do care about me a little bit?" he asked.

She choked out a laugh between her tears. "Yeah, I guess I do," she murmured, smiling at him. "Just a little bit."

He came over to her, cupping her face in his hands and bringing it up to look at him. He gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs, whispering, "You know I care about you too. More than a little bit. Do you believe that?"

She nodded slowly. "I do. And maybe…I care about you more than a little bit too," she replied, pressing her lips tenderly against his.

He returned the kiss with passion, breaking away at last with a sob of relief. "I thought you'd hate me," he whispered. "I thought you'd be shocked and horrified and scared off."

"For killing Buzz?" asked Harleen with a small grin. "You can't say he didn't have it coming. I'm not gonna shed any tears for him, I'm afraid."

"I just thought…you deserve better than a murderer," he murmured.

"I probably do," she agreed. "But that didn't stop me before, did it? I mean, maybe that makes me crazy, but…I was a little crazy to have gotten involved with you in the first place. I think you're worth going a little crazy for."

He beamed at her. "I'm gonna be tried for murder, and yet I couldn't be happier," he murmured, kissing her again.

"We need to figure out what we're gonna do about that," said Harleen. "I don't think we can wait and let things go to trial and hope that I can lie convincingly about your sanity. I know Dr. Leland thinks you don't belong here in the first place, and I'm sure there's a lotta people on the jury who would agree with her. So I think we need to get you outta here ASAP, before it comes to that."

He grinned. "So my plan did work out after all. I got a shrink on my side, and she's gonna bust me outta here."

"I think it's the only choice we've got left," said Harleen. "You have to escape from here, and you'll need my help to do it."

"But if you're caught helping me escape, you'll probably get in even more trouble than if we're caught sleeping together," said Jack. "Unless you come with me, of course."

"I told you, I'm not throwing away my career like that," said Harleen. "Especially now that it's finally going well. But if we're careful, I won't get caught helping you escape. Nobody's caught us sleeping together, after all. We just have to be as discreet with this breakout as we are with that."

Jack considered telling her the truth, that he had killed Buzz because he had found out about them sleeping together, but thought better of it. She didn't need more to worry about right now. "But…Harley, if I bust outta here and you don't come with me…I'm never gonna see you again."

"Now who's being melodramatic?" she asked. "If we're careful, we can meet up once you're outta here, Jack. We just won't see each other in therapy anymore."

"But if someone sees us together, they'll know you helped me escape," he said. "You could get dragged in as an accessory to a crime. I couldn't do that to you."

Harleen kissed him firmly. "Why don't you let me worry about me?" she murmured. "Anyway, this is all hypothetical – there's no point making plans to meet up after you're out until you're actually out."

"What about Chuckie?" asked Jack. "I think he'd be plenty happy staying in here with you as his shrink, but I'd feel bad busting out and leaving him behind."

"Ideally we should ask him what he wants to do," sighed Harleen. "But if we do that, we have to tell him that we're planning on breaking you out, and the fewer people who know that, the better. Do you think he'd be happier out there or in here?"

"You're his shrink – you tell me," retorted Jack.

Harleen was silent. "I think out there he'll have no choice but to return to the life of a criminal," she murmured. "While in here, if he keeps at his therapy…he could eventually become someone better. I'd like to give him that chance."

Jack nodded slowly. "Maybe…if I could have kept at my therapy, I could have become someone better too," he murmured, taking her hand. "Someone worthy of you."

"Well, I'm kinda fond of my smooth criminal, you know," she murmured, stroking his hair back. "Anyway, maybe you can be someone better one day. But first we gotta get you outta here, while you still have a future."

Jack nodded. "Ok, let's make a plan," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing yet," she replied. "But you know what helps me think, don't you?" she asked with a grin as she let down her hair.

"I'm getting an idea," he murmured, grinning back. "God, I don't know what I did to deserve you," he said, pulling her into his arms.

"Well, I gotta thank you properly for killing Buzz, after all," purred Harleen. "Someone should, anyway."

"I was right, you know," murmured Jack. "Getting in the mood over a murder – there is a bad girl inside of you after all."

"Oh, I've always known that, Jack," replied Harleen, smiling and kissing him. "Her name is Harley Quinn."


	13. Chapter 13

After the crime scene of Jack's cell was thoroughly investigated and analyzed, he was allowed to return to it. He took a moment to savor the silence, climbing into bed and shutting his eyes.

"Jack?" asked a voice from the neighboring cell.

Jack sighed heavily. "Yes, Chuckie?" he asked.

"Why did you kill Buzz?" asked Chuckie. "You must have had a reason."

"I had a reason," agreed Jack. "I was sick of him yammering at me."

"No, that don't make sense," said Chuckie, shaking his head. "You're gonna get in a lotta trouble, and you're gonna get Dr. Quinzel in a lotta trouble, and I know you don't wanna do that since you like her so much. You must have had a better reason than that to kill him, because you're not stupid."

"I'm not," agreed Jack. "So just trust me that I had a good reason."

"I think I deserve to know," said Chuckie. "We all worked together for so long – he must have said or done something pretty bad for you to end his life just like that."

"What are you, a shrink?" demanded Jack.

"I'm not," retorted Chuckie. "But I bet you told Dr. Quinzel your reason."

"I didn't, actually," replied Jack. "It would only have worried her. He threatened to hurt her, Chuckie."

"And you think he actually would have?" asked Chuckie.

"I do," agreed Jack, nodding. "If he'd got the chance, he would have."

"Why?" asked Chuckie.

"Because he thought that would be a good way to threaten her into breaking us outta here," said Jack. "I…couldn't let him do that. So I killed him."

"And you didn't tell Dr. Quinzel that you killed him because of her?" he asked.

"I couldn't," said Jack. "She would have felt guilty, you know that. A sweet, sensitive girl like her…she doesn't want guys killing for her."

Chuckie nodded. "Well, I guess you did have a good reason then," he said. "Shame, though. I'd kinda gotten used to Buzz being around. And Dr. Leland's right – it's gonna cause a lotta trouble for everyone in here. You should have seen the cops poking around here, prodding the body, asking everyone a lotta questions…"

"Did you tell 'em anything?" interrupted Jack.

"I don't know anything," replied Chuckie, shrugging. "Or at least, I didn't. And now that I know he died because he was gonna hurt Dr. Quinzel, you can be damn sure I ain't talking to any cops."

"Thanks, Chuckie," said Jack, smiling at him.

"You think they're gonna send you back to Blackgate?" asked Chuckie. "To the chair?"

"I hope not," replied Jack. "But we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

"You're a lot calmer than I would be," said Chuckie.

"Well, I got Dr. Quinzel fighting my corner," said Jack. "And so I feel pretty confident."

"Yeah, she's great," agreed Chuckie. "But what can she do against the cops and the lawyers and everything?"

"We'll just have to wait and see," repeated Jack.

"Well, good luck," said Chuckie. "To both of you. But I gotta say, if anyone can work the miracle of getting you off the hook for this, it'll be Dr. Quinzel."

"You got that right," agreed Jack. "She is a miracle worker."

…

Harleen was gazing down at her notes on the plan she and Jack had thought up together so far – it could work, but she needed to review it thoroughly and make sure it was completely foolproof. She knew how serious the consequences would be if they were caught, and her heart was beating in terror at the very thought of putting it into action. But oddly that fear inspired rather than crippled her creativity and imagination. The danger was strangely something that aided her in keeping her mind level and her senses sharp, and she almost craved the excitement of putting the plan into action as soon as possible. But there was still hesitation in her – on the one hand, she knew it was the only way she could save Jack, but another selfish part of her begged her not to even take the risk of ruining her career like this. There was a conflict in her, swinging back and forth between head and heart, and it seemed like both sides fighting against her might lock her into a stalemate of ever taking any action.

A knock on the door interrupted her musings. "Come in," she said, hiding the notebook underneath an open file.

"Harleen, can I talk to you?" asked Dr. Leland, entering.

"Of course, Joan – have a seat," said Harleen, gesturing.

"The police have just left – they're going to be in touch with the DA's office about putting Mr. Napier on trial," said Dr. Leland. "I just wanted to check that you were ok with all this. Mentally, I mean. It's kinda a big responsibility."

"Don't worry about me, Joan," replied Harleen. "I'm kinda looking forward to the challenge of it all."

"That makes one of us," sighed Dr. Leland. "You don't know how much of a headache this is going to be. Or how many times we're going to have to testify – trials like this can be lengthy and drawn out, and the lawyers will keep asking the same questions over and over again until you're sick of 'em. I really, really resent the lawyer who brought Napier here in the first place."

"I don't," said Harleen. "I think I've managed to help him a little bit."

"Even though he murdered his cellmate?" asked Dr. Leland.

"He's a…passionate man," said Harleen, slowly. "And he can be hot-blooded – if a guy insults him, he loses his temper and acts without thinking sometimes, which I guess is what happened with Bronski. Maybe I'm partially responsible for that – I thought getting in touch with his emotions would be a good thing for him, but maybe it only made him quicker to anger. But I think…he can change. I think he wants to change. And he should be given that opportunity."

"Well, I hope the court agrees with you," sighed Dr. Leland. "I can't say I do, but you probably know him better than me."

There was a knock on the door. "Excuse me, Dr. Leland, but the receptionist said you were in here," said a guard, poking his head in. "There's a guy from the DA's office here to see you."

Dr. Leland sighed heavily. "They do work fast when they want to. You can bring him here – what he has to say will probably concern Dr. Quinzel too."

The guard nodded, leaving and returning shortly after with a young man in a suit. "Dr. Leland, I'm Harvey Dent, the assistant District Attorney," said the man, holding out his hand to her.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Dent – this is Dr. Quinzel, Mr. Napier's psychiatrist," said Dr. Leland, gesturing at Harleen. "I must say, I didn't expect the DA's office to be so prompt in getting this case started…"

"No, I'm not here about Mr. Napier, although I'm aware of that incident," interrupted Dent. "I'm actually here to speak to whoever certified Selina Kyle as being mentally fit."

"That would be me," said Harleen, standing up. "Do you have a problem with my diagnosis?"

"Not me personally, but objectively there is one," said Dent, holding out a paper to her. "She's been re-arrested, caught red-handed trying to steal a rare diamond from the Natural History Museum, less than twenty-four hours after her release from house arrest."

"What?" asked Harleen, taking the paper from him and scanning it. "It says here she was captured by Batman," she said, looking up at him.

"It's immaterial who the arrest was at the hands of – the fact in this case is that she was not fit to be released," replied Dent. "I've been sent over to speak to her psychiatrist to try and understand why they made this false diagnosis, and to recommend to Dr. Leland that some of her staff might need to be reprimanded or retrained in their methods."

"There is nothing wrong with my method!" snapped Harleen.

"Really?" asked Dent, raising his eyebrows. "So people re-offending so soon after their release is your goal, is it?"

"Of course it's not!" retorted Harleen. "Obviously I made a mistake in her case, but I truly thought…"

"We're not questioning your integrity, Dr. Quinzel, just your competence," interrupted Dent. "Maybe you just weren't prepared for this kind of responsibility, or these kinds of cases – I certainly chalk it up to inexperience more than malice. But nevertheless, we don't need these kinds of mistakes happening again. It reflects badly on our office, and particularly on yours," he said, nodding at Dr. Leland.

"I think what reflects badly on your office, Mr. Dent, is using an unstable vigilante to do your dirty work for you!" snapped Harleen. "By rights the court should throw any arrest made by this Batman lunatic out as a matter of principle!"

"I'm sure we could sling mud back and forth at each other all day, but you'll notice Miss Kyle's statement," said Dent, nodding at the paper he handed her. "She committed this crime specifically to attract this Batman in order to try and form a more meaningful relationship with him on the advice of her psychiatrist."

"Well, obviously I didn't mean a more meaningful relationship with Batman!" snapped Harleen. "I told her it was important to choose carefully…"

"I just don't think we can allow these kinds of embarrassing missteps to happen again," interrupted Dent. "Do you, Dr. Leland?" he asked, turning to her.

Dr. Leland shook her head slowly. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Dent – I'll deal with this privately," she said.

"As you wish," said Dent. "But you'll understand if my office specifies a different psychiatrist for Miss Kyle on her eventual return here. Good day," he said, leaving and shutting the door behind him.

"Joan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" began Harleen.

"I think it would be better, in light of this, if we remove Mr. Napier as your patient, and have a different doctor testify at his trial," interrupted Dr. Leland, gently. "If you really want to help him, I mean. The prosecution is going to bring up this past error of yours, and in light of that, your opinion will be worse than useless with the jury."

"It was just one mistake!" exclaimed Harleen. "But I'm not wrong about Jack!"

Dr. Leland was silent. "Harleen, I think you already know how much one mistake can influence a person's life," she said, quietly. "I've never brought it up, but your internship was heavily opposed by everyone else here because of your…criminal record. Which I know was a stupid mistake, and which I don't blame you for," she added, hastily. "But the fact is that mistakes do reflect on us, and they do influence future decisions, in us and other people. And if the prosecution found out about that, and this…they'll use those mistakes against you, to turn other people against you, and anything you have to say. If you really want Mr. Napier to have a chance of escaping prison and the death penalty…I think we need to hand him over to someone else for therapy."

"No, I won't let that happen!" exclaimed Harleen, standing up and feeling tears come to her eyes. "I can help him, I know I can…"

"And you knew Selina Kyle was cured too, didn't you?" asked Dr. Leland, quietly. "I'm not trying to be unkind, Harleen – I'm just trying to help you see things as they are, as everyone else is going to see them."

Harleen sat back down slowly, feeling tears trickling down her face. "It's not fair," she whispered.

"No, it's not," agreed Dr. Leland, with a heavy sigh. "But it's life, Harleen, unfortunately. People judge everything about you – the way you look, the mistakes you've made, the life you've chosen. There's nothing that people won't judge. You've just started your career here, but you'll learn soon enough…you have to have a pretty thick skin to come into work, day after day, knowing that every decision you make is going to be scrutinized and probably condemned, when all you're trying to do is help people, and you know it. But nobody else knows that, and nobody else assumes you're trying to do your best. Who'd ever try to help people in a world like that?" she sighed, standing up and heading toward the door. "I sometimes envy our patients in that way – they don't care what anybody thinks, and they don't have any responsibilities except to themselves. They're locked up in here, of course, but otherwise they must feel very free. And we, who voluntarily spend our days taking criticism and complaints, who choose to engage and try to get along in a society so full of malice and envy and hate…well, who's to say we're not the crazy ones after all?"

She left and shut the door, leaving Harleen alone with her thoughts and her tears. But oddly she didn't shed any more – she just wiped her eyes slowly, and then slid the file off the notebook outlining the escape plan. She didn't feel any conflict now - strangely, she had never felt more calm and collected and sure of herself in her life. "Maybe you're right, Joan," she murmured, staring at it. "Maybe we are the crazy ones after all."


	14. Chapter 14

"Dr. Quinzel, you're working late," commented the guard on the night shift as Harleen strode down the hall toward her office.

"Yes, I have some paperwork to do," sighed Harleen. "I keep putting it off, but it's due tomorrow, so I guess I'm in for a long haul tonight. Could you do me a favor and get me a cup of coffee, please?"

"Sure thing," said the guard, heading off down the hall. Harleen unlocked the door and headed over to her desk, pulling out Jack's file and flipping through it. As the guard returned with her coffee, she swore loudly.

"Sorry, excuse the language, thank you," she said, taking the mug from him.

"Is everything ok?" asked the guard.

"I've just realized that I forgot to get Napier's signature on one of our meeting forms, and he has to sign it so I can officially submit it," explained Harleen, holding up the document. "Do you think he's still awake?" she asked, glancing at her watch.

"I'll go see," said the guard. He returned a few moments later saying, "He's asleep, but I'll be happy to wake him up."

"Could you?" asked Harleen. "And bring him here? I know he might be a little grumpy, but this has to be done."

The guard disappeared, and returned a few moments later with Jack in tow, saying, "A little grumpy was the understatement of the century."

"God dammit, it's not enough that I have to put up with these stupid sessions during regular hours but you don't let me sleep now?" demanded Jack. "This some new trick therapy of yours, Doc, sleep deprivation?!"

"You want him chained up for this?" asked the guard.

"Yes, handcuff him at least, please," said Harleen, nodding. "He can still write, but I don't want his arms free. And then bring him over here."

The guard obeyed, dragging a handcuffed Jack over to Harleen's desk. "I just need you to sign this paper on the dotted line, Mr. Napier," said Harleen, handing him a pen. "And then you can go back to bed, and I'll never trouble you again."

"No, you won't," agreed Jack. "You certainly won't."

He suddenly threw the handcuffs around her neck, pulling tight, as one hand gripped the pen tightly next to her eye. "Ok, sport," he hissed, holding her in front of him as he rounded on the guard. "Now you're gonna do everything I ask, aren't you? Unless you want the good doctor here to lose an eye."

The guard froze, his hand reaching for his walkie talkie to call for help. "Don't try anything," said Jack, tightening his grip around Harleen's throat and shoving the pen closer to her eye. "Hand me the key to these handcuffs, and your gun, and put your radio on the floor."

"Please…do what he says…" gasped Harleen, hoping she looked genuinely terrified. She willed tears to her eyes, which wasn't difficult – she just thought about what would happen to both of them if this game didn't work.

The guard obeyed slowly, putting the walkie talkie down on the ground, and holding out the key. "Take it," snapped Jack at Harleen. "And unlock these. Turn around slowly, and don't try anything funny," he warned, as Harleen obeyed. Her heart was beating wildly as she stared up at his handsome face, so stern and threatening and dangerous…it took a lot of effort to resist kissing him, but she managed to retain her terrified look as she unlocked the handcuffs. Jack seized her around the throat in one hand, and whispered, "Now hand me the gun."

Harleen obeyed, taking the gun the guard held out and handing it to Jack. "Now I'm getting outta here," said Jack, shoving the gun against Harleen's temple as he dragged her in front of him, heading for the door. "If you try and call for help, I'll blow her brains out."

"Please listen to him," begged Harleen, letting her tears fall. "I don't want to end up like his cellmate…"

"Shut up!" snapped Jack, pressing the gun harder against her temple, and she sobbed. "Keep quiet – if anyone gets alerted, you're a dead woman."

Jack dragged her out of the office and down the hallway toward the front door. "Nobody try and be a hero!" he shouted at the few employees who were still there. "I'm not afraid to kill her, so don't try me!"

Harleen kept sobbing as he dragged her out of the door and into the parking lot. He shoved his hand into her pocket, withdrawing her keys, and then unlocked her car. "Get in," he snapped, shoving her into the passenger seat. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the car, screeching out of the parking lot and off into the streets of Gotham.

"How long do you think we've got before the police get on this?" asked Harleen, fixing her hair as Jack drove.

"Twenty minutes, maybe slightly more," said Jack. He looked at her. "You sure you wanna go through with this next part?"

"Of course I'm sure," said Harleen.

He shrugged. "I just thought you might have changed your mind and…decided to come with me."

"Jack, I told you, I can't," said Harleen. "I'm not suited for that kinda life, hiding from the cops and killing people."

"But we'd be together," he said, looking at her.

She kissed him. "We _will_ be together," she murmured. "It's just gonna be a secret. And isn't that more thrilling when you think about it? A secret, dangerous affair that nobody can know about – it's so bad and wrong and wicked. I'm getting kinda turned on just thinking about it."

"Me too," he agreed, kissing her. "You are quite the fabulous little actress, you know that? Acting all afraid of me – I was tempted to just drop the act and reassure you of my feelings a few times."

"Mmm, and I had a hard time keeping my mouth off you with you threatening me like that," murmured Harleen. "We should roleplay that situation the next time we're together."

"And when will that be?" he asked.

"We don't have time to iron out the details right now – just call me," said Harleen. "You have my number and my address written down here in the glove compartment, which is a natural thing for me to have in my car. The cops won't suspect a thing when they find it. Just let me know as soon as you're settled in a hideout, so I don't worry."

"I will, I promise," he said. "I'll call you as soon as I'm somewhere with a phone."

"Ok," she said, kissing him. "Then I guess we're ready for the next part."

He nodded. "I love you, Harley Quinn," he murmured, gazing at her.

"And I love you, Jack Napier," she replied, smiling.

He kissed her again. "Call me Joker," he said. "You ready?"

"Ready," she said, putting her hand on the door handle. Jack slammed on the brake, Harleen opened the door, and Jack shoved her out of the car.

"Good riddance, you dumb bitch!" he snapped, slamming the door shut and then screeching off into the street.

A crowd instantly gathered around Harleen to make sure she was all right as she gazed after the car, feeling nothing except the overwhelming regret that she hadn't gone with him, and the urge to follow him. That was nonsense, her brain reminded her – the last thing she wanted to be was a fugitive from the law. She and Jack would be together again soon without her throwing her life away.

"Harleen, oh, thank God!" gasped Dr. Leland, embracing her as she was brought back to Arkham by a good samaritan. "We thought he might have killed you!"

"No, I'm…ok," stammered Harleen. "Just a little bruised from being thrown out of the car."

"I think you're lucky to be alive – do you feel up to talking to the police, or should I tell them to come back later?" asked Dr. Leland.

"No, I can…talk," said Harleen, slowly. "Maybe I could get a cup of coffee first, though."

"Of course – I'll get it," said Dr. Leland, ushering her into her office. "These are Detectives Bullock and Montoya – they'd like to speak to you about Mr. Napier," she said, introducing the two police officers waiting in the room.

"Dr. Quinzel," said Montoya, shaking her hand. "We're relieved to see you're all right. And we're sorry to be back here under such circumstances."

"Yeah, two crimes in as many days by the same guy," commented Bullock, lighting up a cigar. "I dunno why the courts threw that Napier bum in here – if he'd gotten the chair in the first place, none of this would have happened."

"Well, hindsight is 20/20," said Montoya. "But speaking of hindsight, did you have any warnings that Mr. Napier would try something like this?"

"Uh…no," said Harleen. "I mean, I guess he seemed more unstable after murdering his cellmate, but I never would have thought…he'd do anything like this."

"The guard says you asked him to be handcuffed this time, but not during the session right after he killed his cellmate," said Montoya. "Why is that?"

"He was calm after he killed his cellmate, but he was very agitated tonight," said Harleen. "I guess maybe I should have thought something was up, but…I don't think anyone could have seen this coming."

"And what happened in the car?" asked Montoya. "Did he threaten you, or try to assault you in some way?"

"He…said he could have killed me, but that I wasn't worth staining the upholstery for," murmured Harleen. "He said I was an idiot for thinking he could ever be reformed, and that everything he ever told me had been a lie. And then he threw me out of the car. I think…that was funnier than killing me, in his mind. To let me live knowing that I had been taken in by him, so I'll always doubt my decisions and my actions. He has…a very cruel sense of humor."

"No kidding," agreed Bullock. "And now he's out there somewhere, up to God knows what. We should be out there after him, Montoya."

"Harvey, Gordon said to let him handle it," retorted Montoya.

"Yeah, and you know what that means, don't you?" demanded Bullock. "The Comish is getting his pet bat involved…"

"Harvey!" interrupted Montoya, angrily, as Dr. Leland returned with the coffee. "That's classified information! Let's keep it that way."

"Whatever," muttered Bullock. "Crazy, cape-wearing freak," he muttered under his breath, puffing angrily on his cigar.

Harleen was about to question them further about Batman, when another officer entered the room. "Excuse me, detectives, but we've found Dr. Quinzel's car," he said. "It was abandoned down by the river."

"Guess the creep ditched it as soon as he could so we couldn't track him," muttered Bullock, taking the photographs from the officer. "Looks in pretty good shape though, considering."

"Was anything taken from it?" asked Montoya.

"Not that we could see, but Dr. Quinzel will probably need to verify that later," said the officer, nodding. "But Detective Bullock's right – it's still in good working order. After we've gone over it for prints and evidence, she can have it back."

"Well, that's good news anyway," said Dr. Leland, smiling. "Saves on your insurance, Harleen."

"Yeah," agreed Harleen. "Good news." She cleared her throat. "As a personal favor to me, I'd appreciate if you kept me informed of anything you find in this case. Or...anything any allies of yours find," she added, looking pointedly at Bullock.

"Trust me, Doc, he's no ally of mine," retorted Bullock.

"But we will," finished Montoya, nodding. "If Napier is brought in…by anyone, you'll probably be needed to testify at his kidnapping trial. I understand that might be very difficult for you…"

"Yes," agreed Harleen. "But it's important that he's brought to justice for his crimes. And we all have to do our part in upholding justice."

Montoya smiled at her. "You're a very brave woman, Dr. Quinzel," she said.

"I don't have any other choice," said Harleen, smiling back. "But thank you."

Inwardly her stomach was twisting in knots at the thought of Jack being hunted down by the vigilante nutcase known as Batman. Of course she knew Jack could probably outwit him, but she was more anxious than ever to receive that phone call from him, to hear his voice telling her he was all right. She hoped he wouldn't keep her in suspense too long.


	15. Chapter 15

Harleen waited for Jack's phone call as the days passed. She waited as weeks passed, and turned into months. When several agonizing months had passed with no word from him, or from the police informing her that he had been arrested, Harleen could come to only one conclusion: that Jack had been using her after all.

The more she reflected on that possibility, the more it all made sense, and she felt like a fool for being taken in by such a man, convincing as he had been. She had been warned by Buzz that Jack was an excellent actor whose MO was to hoodwink women by sweet talking them, and that was exactly what he had done with Harleen. He had been smart, very smart, by revealing his plan to charm a shrink to her, which was exactly what he had done in the end - the best way to hide the truth was in plain sight, after all. But he had pretended to be so infatuated with her, and she had wanted to believe that he was. She saw now that he must have counted on that, and everything he had done had been part of his plan. He had murdered Buzz so she would have to help him escape, or risk condemning him to death, and he knew he had charmed her just enough that the thought would be appalling to her. But it had all been an act, a joke, a game, as he had freely admitted from the start. She didn't know why she had fallen for it. She must have been as stupid as everyone thought she was.

After Jack's escape, Harleen's patients dried up. Dr. Leland said this was because she didn't want to pressure her after her traumatic experience, but Harleen thought she was also trying to play it safe after her less than perfect record at reforming patients. She reflected that this was probably what she deserved by being taken in by two criminals. She had been utterly naïve, despite being so confident and sure of herself. And she had paid the price by having her heart completely shattered.

The one bright spark in the whole horrible affair was Chuckie, the one patient she had been allowed to keep, and who she had managed, after several months of therapy, to reform. He was granted parole, and released from the asylum a changed man. He also became quite a hit in the art scene, mostly because of his notoriety as a former gangster. His drawings were less sought after for his skill, and more for his name, but nevertheless, he managed to make a career out of it.

About a month after his release, Harleen visited Chuckie in his modest apartment which was covered from floor to ceiling in drawings. "Excuse the mess, but I got about a million commissions," Chuckie said, clearing off a chair for her. "I dunno how I'm gonna get 'em all done, but I'm grateful for the work, of course."

"I'm glad you're doing so well," said Harleen, smiling at him. "I knew you could be successful if you just believed in yourself."

"Well, you believed in me first," said Chuckie, beaming at her. "I can never thank you enough for that."

Harleen nodded, looking down at her hands. "I don't suppose…you've kept in touch with any of your old colleagues at all?" she asked casually.

"No way," said Chuckie, shaking his head. "The last thing I wanna do is go back to that life, or anyone in it."

"Very wise," said Harleen, nodding. "I was just wondering if…maybe you've heard from Jack."

"If I had, I'd turn him over to the cops for what he did to you," retorted Chuckie. "Imagine trying to kidnap you. And I always thought he was so fond of you, but then I ain't the brightest, clearly."

"Well, I'm not either," agreed Harleen, quietly. "I thought…he cared about me too."

"It just doesn't make a lotta sense," said Chuckie. "You know he killed Buzz for you, right?"

Harleen looked up at him. "No, I…didn't," she stammered.

"That's what he told me – Buzz threatened to hurt you, and Jack killed him so he wouldn't," said Chuckie. "But that was probably a lie too. Jack was always good at manipulating people. I guess he did that to both of us."

"Buzz was right after all," murmured Harleen. "He said Jack was just a joker. And he was. I was…a dumb clown to have thought any differently. Stupid Harley," she muttered.

"Hey," said Chuckie, kneeling down and taking her hands. "You ain't stupid," he said. "Don't you ever think that about yourself. Maybe you made a mistake in trying to think the best of a guy, but that ain't stupid. That's brave. In this crazy, messed up world, that's maybe the bravest thing you can do. To believe that people can change, people like me, who the world cast aside. To try and make 'em believe in themselves, to make 'em believe there's something worth saving in 'em. Nobody ever saw that in me before, except you, Doc. You're crazy smart, and don't let anyone tell you different. Especially not yourself."

Harleen smiled at him, feeling tears trickling down her face. "Thanks, Chuckie," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

"C'mon, dry those eyes and let me make you a cup of coffee," said Chuckie. "Make yourself at home, turn on the TV, or draw something if you want," he said, heading into the kitchen. "We could have a dual exhibition – the artist and the shrink who made him one."

Harleen laughed. "Well, I wouldn't dream of putting my so-called artistic attempts next to yours," she said, looking around for the remote, and flicking on the TV.

The news was reporting a story: "…series of bizarre and strange ransom notes sent to the families of the kidnap victims, each one identical, and identically baffling. Police Commissioner Gordon had this to say."

The image flicked over to Commissioner Gordon at a press conference, holding up a note written in red ink. "We've had ten notes in the exact same handwriting, written in blood obtained from the kidnap victims, all with the exact same message."

"Is there anything that connects the kidnap victims, Commissioner?" asked a reporter.

"Nothing at all, as far as we can tell," replied Gordon. "They appear to have been taken from completely random locations, and they're all from different walks of life. Whoever this is isn't after money, as the notes clearly indicate. The demand on all of them is always the same."

"What does it mean, Commissioner?" asked another reporter. "Is that some kinda code? Or maybe a valuable object?"

"We don't think so – we think it's a person," replied Gordon. "Although we haven't found the name in any of the police databases yet. Maybe it's some rival criminal this person has a grudge match with – I don't know, but we're doing our best to figure it out. If anyone knows anything that could help us, we do ask that they contact the GCPD immediately. Thank you," he said, standing up with cameras flashing after him.

Harleen stared at the screen in utter horror, as it focused on the note the Commissioner had been holding up. It had only one sentence on it, in clear, firm handwriting:

 _Bring me Harley Quinn_.


	16. Chapter 16

"Geez, you'd think you wouldn't wanna watch any more stuff about crime after what you've been through…" Chuckie said, re-entering the room with a tray of coffee, but he was shocked to see Harleen scrambling to her feet.

"Sorry…I…have to go," she said, pulling on her coat hastily. "I need to see the police."

"I'll go with you," said Chuckie, putting the tray down. "We'll drive there together…"

"No, I need…fresh air…to clear my head," stammered Harleen. "I…I need to be alone, thank you, Chuckie," she said. "I'll see you soon," she said, racing out the door.

She walked hurriedly down the street, her mind buzzing. The rational part of her brain tried to tell her that the notes couldn't possibly be referring to her, but deep inside she knew that they were. She knew they were from Jack, but she didn't understand why he was doing this. Maybe he wanted to make her pay for getting involved with him – maybe this was some cruel revenge he had planned, to make her go to the police and confess that Harley Quinn was her name that she had used in bed with a notorious criminal, and her patient. But she had to confess the truth – if Jack was kidnapping people now, she had a duty to save them. She couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of her stupidity, even if it did end up costing her career. It was no less than she deserved.

She headed in the direction of the police station, and had the sudden feeling of being watched. She looked around the street at the few random pedestrians, but could see no one obviously watching her. She hurried her pace, and thought she heard someone else keeping pace with her. She tried to reassure herself that she was just being paranoid, that she was just on edge because of this whole shock about the notes. She stopped and looked around again, but there was no one there. She shuddered, trying to remain calm, and started walking again.

She turned the corner and was suddenly seized and dragged into an alley. She tried to scream, but a gloved hand was clapped tightly over her mouth. She looked up to see a pair of glittering green eyes, and a huge smile beaming down at her. "Harley Quinn," it whispered. "My Harley Quinn. I've found you at last."

"Let go of me…" began Harleen, as he removed his hand from her mouth, but he suddenly replaced it with his own, kissing her passionately. Harleen recovered from her shock as she realized she recognized that kiss, and those lips, and that mouth.

"Jack," she gasped, as he drew away at last. "Jack, what…"

But he clapped a hand over her mouth again, putting a finger to his lips. "Not Jack, Harley," he whispered. "Not anymore," he said, removing his hat to reveal the rest of his face. "Call me Joker."

Harleen stared at him in horror. "Oh my God…Jack…" she stammered, raising a hand to brush aside a lock of green hair from his grinning, red-lipped, bone white face. "What…what happened to you?" she gasped.

"Long story," he whispered. "So long, very long, but over now, my Harley Quinn," he murmured, embracing her. "You're here with me at last, and I'm not going to leave you again, not ever. I promise…I…I'm not a joker…"

He held her tightly, chuckling. "But I guess I am now. It's amazing I can still laugh and smile after what I've been through. But now I just can't seem to stop."

"What have you been through?" whispered Harleen. "And why didn't you call me? Or tried to contact me somehow – it's been months…"

"I…I couldn't remember," he stammered. "After what happened to me…I can't remember…a lot of things now. Except you, Harley Quinn. I remembered you, I remembered your face, and your name, but nothing else. I didn't know where I had met you, or when, I just knew…I wanted you back. Nothing made sense without you…I felt…crazy. And I know…you can help the madness go away. You can help it all make sense, you can help me not be crazy anymore. Can't you?"

He was gazing at her with pleading eyes, looking so lost and alone and helpless. "Jack…come with me," she said, taking his hand. "Let me take you home."

"No…not back to the castle," he whispered, shutting his eyes. "Not back to the dungeon. Cold iron bars and darkness and chains, imprisoned and locked up. But there was one light in the darkness, a clown princess, Harley Quinn," he whispered. "She unchained me, she loved me, and we were happy. And then…she freed me from the dungeon, and that's…that's when the monster found me."

"Monster? What monster, Jack?" she whispered.

"A big, black bat," he murmured.

"Batman," whispered Harleen. "Was it Batman?"

He grinned. "Batman," he murmured. "Yes, it must have been. Who else would think it was funny, making a guy as crazy as he is? I…I think he was laughing, or…no…maybe I was. I don't think he laughs…monsters…monsters can't laugh, can they?"

"Oh Jack, he really did a number on you, didn't he?" whispered Harleen, cupping his face in her hands and gently leaning against his forehead. "But it's all right now. I'm going to take care of you, and I'm not gonna let Batman lay a finger on you again. Come home with me – not to the dungeon, but home, where I live, and where you'll be safe."

"Safe," he repeated. "Safe!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That reminds me – those people I've kidnapped aren't safe. I'm going to kill them all if their families don't…bring me Harley Quinn."

"Can you take me to them, Jack?" asked Harleen, gently. "We're together now, so you can let them go, can't you?"

"I…I guess I can," he agreed, nodding. "But…probably better to silence them. They'll be able to identify me, and a good criminal knows you never leave people who can identify you alive. And I am pretty identifiable these days," he chuckled.

"Jack, trust me, you should release those people," said Harleen. "And together we'll take them to the police station to reunite them with their families."

He giggled. "I can't go to the police station, baby!" he chuckled. "The cops are gonna give me the chair, if they don't just shoot me on sight!"

"No, they won't, Jack," she said, soothingly. "You're a sick man, and they're not going to condemn a sick man to death. You're going to tell them what happened to you, and they're going to put you in my care, and I'm going to help you. We'll be together, I promise," she said, taking his hands. "I won't let you go again."

He nodded slowly. "I'll take you to 'em," he murmured. "But…you have to promise, Harley. You have to promise we'll stay together, whatever happens."

"I promise, Jack," she whispered, kissing him.

"That's not my name," he murmured, grinning at her.

"I promise, Joker," she corrected.

He chuckled, pinching her cheek. "That's right," he said. "Now they're not in the greatest shape – I did need their blood to write those notes with, so some of 'em are cut open a little, but nothing a good doctor can't stitch up in a jiffy," he said, leading her back in the direction of a run-down, abandoned-looking building.

He opened the door to reveal ten people, tied and gagged and bleeding. Harleen tried to conceal her horror as she calmly went over to one and said, "Give me your knife, Jack."

He obeyed, and she cut the ropes binding a hostage. "Please try to keep calm," she murmured, removing the gag. "We're going to take you to the police station, where you can be reunited with your families."

"And the cops are going to arrest that thing, aren't they?" the hostage spat, nodding at Jack.

"He's a sick man," murmured Harleen, releasing another hostage. "Not a thing."

"You expect us to believe that he's just going to go with you voluntarily to the police station?" he demanded. "This is just another game of his – getting our hopes up at being released is some cruel joke he's playing!"

"It's no joke, I promise," said Harleen, cutting another hostage's ropes. "Please trust me – I'm a psychiatrist. You're out of danger now."

The woman whose ropes she cut looked up at her gratefully. "Thank you," she said. "I was praying for Batman to save us."

Harleen tried to keep her expression neutral. "I don't think Batman's ever saved anybody," she muttered, heading over to another hostage. "Or ever will."

When the hostages were freed, Harleen took Jack's hand and walked calmly to the police station, with the hostages following them. Harleen felt Jack's grip like iron in hers, and she smiled encouragingly at him. "Everything's going to be all right," she murmured.

"We'll see, won't we?" chuckled Jack, as they walked through the doors of the station.

Everyone looked up, staring in horror at Jack, and in confusion at the hostages. There was a flurry of excitement as phone calls were made, and a moment later, Commissioner Gordon appeared. "What's going on?" he asked, gazing at the hostages in astonishment. "I don't understand…"

"Mr. Napier has decided to voluntarily release his hostages," said Harleen. "His ransom demands have been met."

Gordon stared at her. "You?" he asked. "You're Harley Quinn?"

"I am," said Harleen, nodding. "Mr. Napier would like to give a statement to the police regarding the vigilante Batman, and his role in all of this. Is there someplace he can do that?"

Gordon nodded slowly. "We'll go to an interview room – call Harvey Dent and Dr. Leland, please," he said to the receptionist. "I think I want them both here for this."

Several minutes later, they were all gathered in an interview room – Harleen and Jack on one side of the table, and Gordon, Dent, and Dr. Leland on the other.

"Just tell us what happened to you after your escape from Arkham, Mr. Napier," said Dr. Leland, gently. "In your own words."

Jack looked at Harleen, who smiled encouragingly at him, squeezing his hand. "I…I have a hard time remembering…a lot of things," he stammered. "But I remember…very clearly…what happened that night. It's like it's burned into my skull, hardwired into my memory somehow...I had left a car somewhere down by the river, and I was trying to find a good place to hide out on foot. I followed the river a little ways until I came to an abandoned chemical factory just outside of town, which I thought would be perfect. Nobody…would find me there. The only problem was that it didn't have a connected phone line, and I needed to…call someone," he said, glancing at Harleen. "So I went outside to try to reconnect the line and…that's when he appeared."

"Go on," said Harleen, squeezing his hand again as he paused. "You're doing great."

Jack nodded, swallowing. "I didn't know…what it was at first…it was like a demon coming out of the darkness, just a giant black shape that struck me square in the face, and knocked me to the ground. I…I tried to retaliate but he was…like this otherworldly monster – nothing I could do seemed to hurt him. Finally, when I realized I couldn't fight him, I ran…back into the factory. I thought I could hide in the shadows above the chemical vats, but…I was wrong. The shadows are his domain. He found me, and beat me, again and again. There was no point to his violence – I would have come with him if he had asked me to surrender. But he didn't – he just kept hitting me. I tried to fight back, broke off a railing and tried to strike him, but I guess…he was wearing armor or something, because he didn't even flinch. He just seized the rail and swung it back at me. It hit me, and I fell backward and…down. Down a long way until I splashed into the chemicals. They did this to me," he said, gesturing to his face. "And something else, they…they messed with my mind so I couldn't remember things clearly, only faces and names, one face and name in particular," he added, smiling at Harleen. "I…I held my breath after I hit the chemicals, hoping he would think I was dead, and I guess he did," he continued. "He left and I…crawled out like this. But I couldn't remember…anything before that. Not even my own name. I…I didn't know where to go or what to do, and the only name I could remember who would help me was Harley Quinn, but I didn't know who she was or how to contact her. So I…did the only thing I could think of to get her attention."

"You kidnapped ten people and wrote ransom notes in their blood," said Dent, nodding. "Yes, I can see how that would be your only resort."

"Mr. Dent, he's clearly not thinking straight," retorted Harleen. "After what's happened to him, I'm surprised he's as lucid as he is. There's no point in defending your pet vigilante after this wanton and needless brutality. You have a duty, as men of the law, to lock him up so he doesn't hurt other innocent people."

"Innocent?" repeated Dent, raising his eyebrows. "You think this man is innocent? Have you forgotten that he tried to kidnap you?"

"And he deserved to be physically and mentally disfigured for that?" demanded Harleen. "That's a pretty strange idea of justice you have, Mr. Dent. The punishment hardly fits the crime…"

"Well, that's not his only crime, is it?" asked Gordon. "I mean, aside from the kidnapping and mutilation of the hostages, he did murder his cellmate, and lots of other people…"

"Why are you defending Batman?" interrupted Harleen, angrily. "My job is not the law, but I think I understand it better than both of you! In this country, we have courts and trials and the rule of law, not some lunatic vigilante drunk on his own power who metes out violent punishments to those he thinks deserve it! That's not how the justice system works, or should work! Whatever Mr. Napier has done, he did not deserve to end up like this!"

"What, wearing clown makeup?" asked Dent. "I'm sure there are worse fates, like being kidnapped and held hostage by a crazed clown, for instance. Have you even checked to see if the makeup washes off?"

"Of course it doesn't wash off!" shouted Harleen.

"Forgive me for not taking Mr. Napier's word for that," replied Dent. "I'm not as trusting as you are as to his story. You'd think you of all people would be more wary, Dr. Quinzel, after being lied to repeatedly by criminals. How many times are you going to let them take you in before you stop being so gullible?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Harleen, shaking in fury. "Are you saying he's lying?"

"Why wouldn't he?" asked Dent. "Why wouldn't a man like that try every trick in the book to avoid facing justice for his crimes? First he talks himself into a mental asylum, then he talks his shrink into sympathizing with him, and now he's trying to talk all of us into believing this cock-and-bull story about being turned into a permanent clown by Batman. Can't you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Why would anyone trust him after what he's done?"

"Because he's telling the truth!" cried Harleen.

"Is he? Or do you just want to believe that he is?" asked Dent. "You can't just trust the word of a criminal, Dr. Quinzel. But then I understand you people do stick together," he added, looking pointedly at her.

Harleen stared at him, feeling her body shaking in fury, feeling the rage building like a pressure cooker, about to explode in a scream. But she didn't scream. She burst out laughing suddenly, smiling at Jack. "You were right, baby," she whispered. "You were right. You probably don't remember, but you told me they'd judge us as the same, no matter what kinda crimes we committed. And you were right."

She kissed him tenderly. "As I'm also a criminal here, you should probably hear my confession too," she agreed, turning back to face the other side of the table. "I helped Jack escape from Arkham in the first place. We staged the kidnapping together - we had been having an affair, and he wanted me to come with him, but I told him I couldn't throw away my career like that, as if it was something that mattered. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because nobody will ever see me as anything else but a criminal, and a woman who was duped by her patients, and a girl way out of her depth in thinking she could help the really challenging cases. But I am so much more than that, and I'm not confining myself to your misguided perceptions anymore. I am smart, and strong, and madly in love. I am Harley Quinn."


	17. Chapter 17

She lunged forward suddenly, ripping the pistol from Gordon's belt and aiming it across the table at them. "Don't be ridiculous, Dr. Quinzel," snapped Gordon, holding out his hand for the gun. "You wouldn't shoot us, and even if you did, you'd never get out of here alive. Don't throw away your life like this."

"I am a clown, Commissioner – I gotta be a little ridiculous," said Harleen, shrugging. "But I don't want to shoot any of you – I just want to make sure me and my Joker can get outta here together. See, I promised him we would, and I ain't breaking a promise to him, not ever again."

"Harleen, please, just stop and think about this," said Dr. Leland, pleadingly. "I know you're upset, and you're going through a difficult time right now, but this criminal is not worth throwing away everything you've worked so hard to achieve. That would be insanity."

"Joan, I appreciate all you've done for me, and I always will," replied Harleen, sincerely. "But I realize now I could never be happy in that life I was working toward. I've been slaving away my entire life in the hopes that if I worked hard enough, people would see me as something else, as something other than a criminal, that they'd see beyond that to someone who has value and skill and use in this world. But the world doesn't forgive, and once you stain your record, it's stained forever, and the stain is all people see. So I'm not gonna play their game anymore – I'm gonna play my own that makes me happy, with my Joker. It's not insanity – it's clarity."

"It's insanity," retorted Dent. "Now I have had enough of this nonsense – you shoot me if you want, Dr. Quinzel, but I don't think you have the guts for it," he said, standing up and reaching out a hand to seize the gun from her.

It happened so fast that Harleen didn't even have time to make the decision of whether to shoot or not – Jack had beaten her to it, shoving Dent back, and suddenly shooting something out of the flower on his buttonhole. It collided with Dent's face, and he screamed, as Jack seized Harleen's hand and raced out of the room, leaving shouting and chaos in their wake.

"Stop them!" shouted Gordon out into the station. "By any means necessary!"

Every cop in the station was on the alert, reaching for their weapons, and Harleen could sense they weren't getting out of this alive. But she felt strangely calm about the whole idea, and the acceptance of her own death was strangely freeing. Oddly, the last thing she felt was regret – she had never felt more alive than she was in this moment, her heart pounding in excitement as she held the hand of the man she loved.

But then something landed at her feet, something that instantly released a thick cloud of blinding smoke. Harleen began coughing and choking, and she heard the others in the station do the same, as shots were fired randomly into the cloud.

"Little trick I learned from a Bat-friend!" chuckled Jack in her ear, and she felt him pulling her swiftly away from the ricocheting bullets. Then they were through the doors and outside in the cool, drizzly Gotham night. "This way," said Jack, never letting go of her hand. "Hurry. I have another hideout they'll never find."

"This is right around the corner from the police station," said Harleen, as they ducked into a building.

"Which is why they'll never find it," chuckled Jack. "Nobody ever looks close to home. You wanna hide something, hide it in plain sight, while they're off scouring the streets for us."

"What was that back there?" asked Harleen.

"Smoke bomb," replied Jack. "I told you, the Bat uses those. And sometimes it makes sense to fight his way against the people who endorse him."

"No, I mean…what did you shoot at Mr. Dent?" asked Harleen.

"Ah, trick flower," said Jack, beaming. "It's like one of those ones that clowns wear, only mine shoots acid instead of water," he said, activating it so it splashed a jet onto the floor, which hissed horribly. "Gotta be careful not to accidentally set it off!" he chuckled.

"He's…probably gonna be disfigured for life," said Harleen, slowly.

"So?" asked Jack. "He deserves it for the way he was talking to you. Nobody talks to my gal like that. Anyway, if you were serious about what you said back there, about giving up everything and not caring anymore, you gotta learn not to care when people get hurt. Especially not people who are asking for it," he added. "Which that guy definitely was. Had to rain on your parade there, just when you had finally got the joke."

Harleen nodded slowly. "There's…no turning back from this now," she murmured. "What happened is going to be all over the papers and the news – my name and picture will be splashed around, as well as any dirt the reporters can dig up on me. Whatever hope I had of any kind of professional reputation is gone forever."

"You regret that?" asked Jack.

She smiled at him. "Not in the slightest," she replied, putting her arms around his neck. "I feel like a colossal burden has been lifted off my shoulders. For the first time I can remember, I feel…free. And happy. Very happy," she said, smiling at him. "You gave me that happiness, Jack. I can never thank you enough. It's just like you said – I chose to give up everything, and you were my reward for doing that."

"I'm glad," he said, smiling back. "And…you'll stay with me, won't you, Harley?" he asked, touching her cheek gently. "I…I need you. I…can't remember who I used to be, but I guess you loved him. Do you think…you could ever be able to love me too?"

She kissed him tenderly. "I do," she whispered. "I do, my Joker."

…

"Another late night, sir?" asked Alfred, entering the Batcave to see Batman hunched over his computer, with several windows open on the giant monitor in front of him. "May I ask what it is you're doing?"

"Research," replied Batman, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. "The Joker's struck again."

"The Joker?" repeated Alfred, setting down the tray with the newspaper and pot of coffee he had brought. "Rather an unusual name, sir."

"That's his alias – I don't know what his real name is," said Batman. "Although he does look vaguely familiar – maybe I came across him before he took on the clown identity. I mean, he had to have been a criminal – that's not the kinda thing you just become overnight. He's hard to recognize under all that makeup though."

He brought up the CCTV video from the police station of the man with the clown face entering holding the hand of a woman. "He's the man who disfigured Harvey Dent," said Batman. "Using acid stored in a trick flower on his lapel, like the popular clown toy. He does everything in a clown style – that appears to be his MO."

"And the woman, sir?" asked Alfred, studying the screen.

"She's easier to track down," said Batman, opening some new windows. "She's the Joker's little playmate, goes by the alias Harley Quinn. Her real name is Harleen Quinzel, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, actually."

"Doctor?" repeated Alfred. "Rather unusual for an intelligent woman like that to turn criminal."

"Well, just because she's a doctor doesn't mean she's intelligent," retorted Batman. "She did have a criminal record from an early age, so she must have cheated her way through medical school or something – I doubt she came by her qualification fairly. Criminals are a crafty, conniving bunch, and someone who started that young has gotta have a few tricks up her sleeve. She used to be employed at Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, but it says here she wasn't very good at her job. Only one successful rehabilitation, Mr. Chuckie Sol, a former gang member but now an artist, if you can call that a successful rehabilitation. She treated Selina Kyle for her kleptomania, and we all know how that turned out," he sighed. "One of Dr. Quinzel's patients, Buzz Bronski, was murdered by another patient of hers, Jack Napier, who then attempted to kidnap her, and used her as a means of escape. So she's clearly not very bright," he concluded. "Or vastly overrated her own abilities as a psychiatrist. No wonder she had to turn criminal – she wasn't fit for anything else, it seems."

"Now that you mention the name Quinzel, I think there was something in the paper about her," said Alfred, picking it up. "Some lurid story about her having an affair with her patient and aiding his escape. Here it is – _Despite her former employer, Dr. Joan Leland, refusing to comment on Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Police Commissioner Gordon confirmed that Dr. Quinzel herself confessed to having been romantically involved with her patient, Jack Napier, and staging her own kidnapping at his hands. Earlier this week, she and this same Jack Napier, wearing clown makeup, entered the police station together with several hostages, and gave testimony against the vigilante known as Batman, claiming that he had caused an accident at an abandoned chemical factory which had permanently disfigured Mr. Napier into looking like a clown. Dr. Quinzel and her lover, now calling himself the Joker, then made their escape from the GCPD after disfiguring half of assistant District Attorney Harvey Dent's face with some kind of acid hidden on the Joker's person. Mr. Dent is reported to be out of danger, although he will retain permanent scarring from the incident. Commissioner Gordon gave his statement as follows: "This was a completely unprovoked attack on a distinguished member of this city dedicated to upholding law and order. As the tapes made of the incident will show, after both Mr. Dent and myself challenged the completely unsubstantiated and frankly laughable allegations made against Batman, Dr. Quinzel became agitated at her delusions being contradicted, seized a weapon and threatened us, and when Mr. Dent attempted disarm her, the Joker attacked him. After this regrettable tragedy, there can be no doubt that the Joker and Dr. Quinzel, alias Harley Quinn, are seriously dangerous and disturbed people. If sighted, do not attempt to approach or engage with them, but please do contact the GCPD immediately."_

"I don't think the GCPD can handle them on their own," said Batman, standing up. "I think they're going to need my help."

"Did you encounter a Mr. Napier at a chemical factory, sir?" asked Alfred, looking up at him.

"Yes," said Batman. "But I thought he died in there. He fell."

"How did he fall, sir?" asked Alfred.

"He fell," repeated Batman. "It was an accident, Alfred."

He buckled on his utility belt. "It's going to be a long night," he said, heading for the door. "Don't wait up."

"Be careful, sir," said Alfred.

"I'm always careful, Alfred," replied Batman.

"I hope you are," sighed Alfred, as the door slid shut. He went over to the computer, closing the open tabs, but pausing to watch the scrolling CCTV footage of the clown and the woman holding hands in the police station. "Poor girl," sighed Alfred. "Whatever could have driven her to throw her life away like that? Terrible tragedy," he sighed, shutting down the computer. "But then what can one expect from a criminal?"

 **The End**


End file.
